\ 


'--, 


o. 


BL  53  .P73  1920 

Pratt,  James  Bissett,  1875- 
1944. 

The  religious  consciousness 


THE 
RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

A  PSYCHOLOGICAL  STUDY 


^v>^  OF  ?m 


JUM-9n  1 


JAMES  BISSETT  PRATT,  Ph.D. 

P&OFEssoa  OF  Philosophy  ik  Williams  College 


I13eto  gorb 

THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 

1920 

All  rights  reserved 


COP"i*EIGnT.  1920, 

bt  the  macmillan  company 


Set  up  and  electrotyped.    Published  June,  1920. 


TO 
MY  DEAR  SISTER 

HARRIET  PRATT  CLARKE 


PKEFACE 

The  chief  function  of  a  preface  is,  I  suppose,  to  provide 
information  for  the  hurried  reviewer  who  has  not  time  to 
read  further.  In  a  sense  the  preface  might  be  called  the 
author's  own  book-review ;  or  it  is  the  book's  Apologia  pro  vita 
sua,  ^o  apology,  to  be  sure,  need  be  made  for  a  new  book  on 
the  psychology  of  religion.  The  science,  if  such  we  may  call 
it,  is  still  young,  and  good  books  upon  it  are  scarce.  Perhaps, 
however,  it  is  incumbent  upon  one  who  lays  before  the  public 
so  formidable-looking  a  volume  as  the  present  one,  even  within 
so  new  a  field,  to  state  at  least  his  purpose  and  his  point  of 
view  in  writing  it. 

''  My  purpose  is  easily  stated.  It  is,  namely,  to  describe  the 
religious  consciousness,  and  to  do  so  without  having  any  point 
of  view.  Without,  that  is,  having  any  point  of  view  save  that 
of  the  unprejudiced  observer  who  has  no  thesis  to  prove.  My 
aim,  in  short,  has  been  purely  descriptive,  and  my  method 
purely  empirical.  Like  other  men  I  have  my  own  theories 
about  the  philosophy  of  religion,  but  I  have  made  unremitting 
efforts  (and  I  trust  with  some  success)  to  describe  the  religious 
consciousness  without  undue  influence  from  my  philosophical 
theories,  but  merely  by  going  to  experience  and  writing  down 
what  I  find. 

I  have  also  sought  to  cover  the  field  with  a  fair  degree  of 
adequacy;  to  do  justice  by  both  religion  and  science;  to  hold 
the  scales  even  between  the  individual  and  society  (no  easy 
matter  in  these  days)  ;  and  to  make  my  book  of  value  and  (if 
possible)  of  interest  to  both  the  general  reader  and  the  technical 
student.  I  am,  of  course,  painfully  aware  of  the  fact  that  in 
many  ways  I  have  fallen  short  of  my  aims.  It  is  now  over 
twelve  years  ago  that  I  began  writing  the  book;  and  in  that 
length  of  time  so  many  changes  come  over  one's  evaluations  and 
one's  style  that  in  looking  through  the  completed  volume  I  can 
plainly  see  (though  I  hope  the  reader  will  not)  several  distinct 
strata  of  thought  and  language  superimposed  upon  each  other, 

vii 


viii  PREFACE 

as  througli  successive  geologic  ages.  These  diverse  elements  I 
think  are  not  really  inconsistent  with  each  other,  though  in 
this  I  mav  be  mistaken. 

In  whatever  else  I  have  failed  I  hope  at  least  that  I  have 
avoided  provincialism,  both  of  the  geographical  and  of  the  in- 
tellectual variety.  In  order  not  to  be  confined  to  the  American 
Protestant  point  of  view  I  have  seen  what  I  could  of  Roman 
Catholicism  in  Europe,  and  of  Hinduism  and  Buddhism  in 
India,  Burma,  and  Ceylon.  As  to  the  more  dangerous  pro- 
vincialism of  the  spirit,  none  of  us  knows  how  far  he  suc- 
ceeds in  escaping  it.  To  what  extent  my  training  in  psy- 
chology has  provincialized  my  judgment  and  my  power  of 
evaluation,  the  reader  alone  will  be  able  to  decide. 

My  thanks  are  due  to  the  editors  of  the  American  Journal 
of  Religions  Psychology  and  the  Harvard  Theological  Review 
for  permission  to  reprint  (in  revised  form)  some  of  the  con- 
tent of  this  volume  which  fi.rst  appeared  in  their  pages;  and 
to  the  following  friends,  former  students  of  mine,  who  by  the 
circulation  of  questionnaires  aided  me  in  the  collection  of  some 
of  my  material  —  namely  Mr.  J.  L.  Cole,  Mr.  H.  S.  Dodd, 
Mr.  P.  W.  Hammond,  Mr.  E.  B.  Hart,  Mr.  E.  L.  Hazelton, 
Mr.  H.  M.  Ives,  Mr.  L.  E.  McCuen,  Mr.  C.  B.  Rogers,  Mr.  S. 
T.  Stanley,  and  Mr.  Y.  Suzuki.  Particularly  to  my  wife  am 
I  indebted  for  increased  insight  into  the  inner  nature  of  Roman 
Catholicism,  for  considerable  assistance  in  the  preparation  of 
my  manuscript  and  index,  and  for  unfailing  encouragement 
and  keen  though  kindly  criticism. 

Williamstown,  Massachusetts. 
April,  1920. 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I    Religion 1 

II    The  Psychology  of  Religion 22 

III  Religion  and  the  Subconscious 45 

IV  Society  and  the  Individual 68 

V    The  Religion  of  Childhood 91 

VI    Adolescence 108 

Vn    Two  Types  of  Conversion 122 

Vni    The  Factors  at  Work  in  Conversion 148 

IX    Crowd  Psychology  and  Re\tvals 165 

X     The  Belief  in  a  God 195 

XI    The  Belief  in  Immortality .  224 

XII    The  Cult  and  Its  Causes 255 

XIII  How  the  Cult  Performs  Its  Functions 271 

XIV  OBJECTrv'E  and  Subjective  Worship 290 

XV    Prayer  and  Phivate  Worship 310 

XVI  The  IIilder  Form  of  Mystic  Experience      ....  337 

XVII    The  "  Mystics  "  and  Their  Methods 363 

XVin    The  Ecstasy 394 

XIX    The  Mystic  Life 430 

XX    The  Place  and  Value  of  Mysticism 442 

Index 481 


THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS: 

A  PSYCHOLOGICAL  STUDY 


CHAPTEK  I 

EELIGION 

It  is  a  rather  odd  fact  that  a  word  so  repeatedly  on  the  lips 
of  men  and  connoting,  apparently,  one  of  the  most  obvious 
phenomena  of  human  life  should  be  so  notoriously  difficult  of 
definition  as  is  the  word  Religion.  None  of  us  seem  able  to  get 
along  without  using  the  word;  and  yet  when  asked  just  what 
we  mean  by  it  very  few  of  us  can  tell.  Nor  is  this  unsteadi- 
ness in  the  employment  of  the  term  confined  to  those  who  have 
done  but  little  systematic  thinking  on  the  subject.  Not  that 
the  great  thinkers  who  have  written  books  have  neglected  to  tell 
us  what  religion  is, —  Professor  Leuba  enumerates  forty-eight 
definitions  of  religion  from  as  many  great  men  ^  (and,  else- 
where, adds  two  of  his  own,  apparently  to  fill  out  the  even  half- 
hundred).  But  the  striking  thing  about  these  definitions  is 
that,  persuasive  as  many  of  them  are,  each  learned  doctor  seems 
quite  unpersuaded  by  any  but  his  own.  And  when  doctors  dis- 
agree what  are  the  rest  of  us  going  to  do  ?  Can  we  be  justified 
in  talking  about  religion  at  all  ? 

The  truth  is,  I  suppose,  that  "  religion ''  is  one  of  those 
general  and  popular  terms  which  have  been  used  for  centuries 
to  cover  so  vague  and  indefinite  a  collection  of  phenomena 
that  no  definition  can  be  framed  which  will  include  all  its  uses 
and  coincide  with  every  one's  meaning  for  it.  Hence  all  defini- 
tions of  religion  are  more  or  less  arbitrary  and  should  be  taken 
rather  as  postulates  than  as  axioms.  In  this  sense  I  shall  my- 
self propose  a  tentative  definition  of  religion,  not  at  all  as  a 

1"  A  Psychological  Study  of  Religion."     (New  York,  Macmillan:   1912.) 
Appendix. 

1 


2  THE  RELIGIOUS  CO:NrSCIOUSXESS 

final  or  complete  statement,  nor  because  I  think  it  of  any  great 
importance,  but  because  I  intend  to  write  a  book  about  religion 
and  it  therefore  seems  only  fair  that  I  should  tell  the  reader 
in  advance  not  what  the  word  means,  but  what  I  am  going 
to  mean  by  the  word. 

.  The  definition  which  I  propose  is  the  following:  Reli- 
gion is  the  serious  and  social  attitude  of  individuals  or  com- 
munties  toward  the  power  or  powers  which  they  conceive  as 
having  ultimate  control  over  their  interests  and  destinies.^ 
This  definition  I  propose  for  what  it  is  worth,  and  if  it  is 
found  in  several  ways  defective,  I  shall  not  be  surprised,  nor 
shall  I  greatly  care.  It  has,  however^  one  or  two  characteristics 
which  seem  to  me  of  some  merit,  and  to  which  I  wish  to  call 
the  reader's  attention.  And  its  first,  and  perhaps  its  only 
merit,  is  that  it  defines  religion  as  an  ^^  attitude."  This  word 
as  a  psychological  term  has  received  its  greatest  emphasis  and 
its  clearest  exposition  from  Professor  Judd,'  and  it  is 
from  him,  in  a  general  way,  that  I  borrow  it.  And  with- 
out accepting  all  of  Professor  Judd's  views  on  the  subject  * 
I  shall  say  briefly  that  the  word  "  attitude  "  shall  here  be  used 
to  cover  that  responsive  side  of  consciousness  which  is  found 
in  such  things  as  attention,  interest,  expectancy,  feeling,  ten- 
dencies to  reaction,  etc.  Thus  it  is  contrasted  with  what  Pro- 
fessor Judd  calls  "  content,"  the  relatively  passive  element  in 
sensation,  the  accepted  and  recognized.  It  presupposes  always 
an  object  of  some  sort,  and  involves  some  sort  of  content;  but 
it  is  itself  a  relatively  active  state  of  consciousness  which  is 
not  to  be  described  in  terms  of  the  given  but  it  is  a  subjective 

2  For  views  somewhat  similar  to  this  compare  A.  C.  Watson,  "  The  Logic 
of  Religion"  (Am.  Jour,  of  Theol,  XX,  98),  Irving  King's  "The  Develop- 
ment of  Religion"  (New  York,  Macmillan :  1910),  esp.  p.  17j  Perry's  "Ap- 
proach to  Philosophy*'  (New  York,  Scribner:  1905),  pp.  65-66,  and  his 
"The  Moral  Economy"  (New  York,  Scribner:  1909),  p.  218.  See  also 
Lowes  Dickinson's  brilliant  defense  of  a  similar  view  of  religion  in  his  little 
book,  "Religion,  a  Criticism  and  a  Forecast"  (London,  Brimley:  1906),  p. 
56flF,  and  Everett's  "Moral  Values"    (New  York,  Holt:    1918),  p.  382. 

3  See  his  "Psychology"  (New  York,  Scribner:  1907),  passim,  esp.  pp. 
68-69.  Also  his  article,  "  The  Doctrine  of  Attitudes,"  Jour,  of  Phil,  V., 
676f. 

*  His  hypothesis  as  to  the  concomitant  physiological  processes  seems  par- 
ticularly questionable. 


KELIGION  3 

response  to  the  given.  Thus  it  is  not  to  be  confined  to  any 
one  of  the  three  traditional  departments  of  the  mind  — "  know- 
ing, feeling,  and  willing  " —  but  involves  factors  that  belong 
to  each  of  them. 

The  advantages  of  defining  religion  as  an  attitude  are  now, 
I  think,  sufficiently  manifest.  It  shows  that  religion  is  not 
a  matter  of  any  one  ^'  department ''  of  psychic  life  but  in- 
volves the  whole  man.  It  includes  what  there  was  of  truth  in 
the  historical  attempts  to  identify  religion  with  feeling,  belief, 
or  will.  And  it  draws  attention  to  the  fact  that  religion  is 
immediately  subjective,  thus  differing  from  science  (which  em- 
phasizes ^'  content  "  rather  than  "  attitude  ") ;  and  yet  it  points 
to  the  other  fact  also  that  religion  involves  and  presupposes  the 
acceptance  of  the  objective.  Eeligion  is  the  attitude  of  a  self- 
toward  an  object  in  which  the  self  genuinely  believes. 

I  have  qualified  the  word  '^  attitude  "  in  my  definition  by  the 
adjective  "  social "  with  considerable  misgiving,  for  I  do  not 
wish  to  suggest  that  religion  must  have  a  personal  object.  I 
have  used  the  word  to  indicate  that  the  religious  attitude  toward 
the  Determiner  of  Destiny  must  not  be  "mechanical ''  (as,  ac- 
cording to  Mr.  Watson,  the  scientific  attitude  is)  nor  coldly 
intellectual.  It  must  have  some  faint  touch  of  that  social  qual-- 
ity  which  we  feel  in  our  relations  toward  anything  that  can  make 
response  to  us.  It  is  only  in  this  incipient  way  that  the  reli- 
gious attitude  need  be  social. 

Again  let  me  admit,  or  rather  insist,  that  this,  like  all  other 
definitions  of  religion,  is  more  or  less  arbitrary.  Whoever 
wishes  to  do  so  has  certainly  a  perfectly  logical  right  to  give 
a  much  narrower  or  a  much  broader  definition  of  the  term,  pro- 
vided he  is  willing  to  take  the  consequences.  He  may,  if  he 
chooses,  even  confine  religion  to  belief  in  Jehovah,  on  condition 
that  he  will  stick  to  his  definition  and  consistently  call  irre- 
ligious all  men  who  do  not  so  believe.  A  narrow  definition 
based  upon  a  particular  theological  belief,  however,  has  two 
patent  disadvantages.  In  the  first  place,  it  necessarily  leaves 
out  a  great  number  of  people  and  a  great  number  of  phenomena 
which  are  by  general  consent  recognized  as  religious.  Thus  if 
we  hold  that  belief  in  a  personal  God  is  the  criterion  of  re- 


4  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

ligion  we  not  only  run  counter  to  the  general  view  which  classes 
Buddhism  in  its  original  fonn  (that  great  stumhling  block  to 
most  definitions)  among  the  religions,  hut  we  are  forced  to  call 
irreligious  many  deeply  spiritual  souls  nearer  home,  who  cer- 
tainly have  something  more  within  them  than  can  be  included 
under  philosophy  or  morality.'^  If  religion  is  merely  this  purely 
intellectual  and  rather  superficial  thing  it  is  hardly  worth  very 
much  discussion.  And,  in  the  second  place,  however  much  it 
may  be  worth,  at  any  rate  it  is  not  a  subject  that  can  be  discussed 
by  psychology.  One  purely  intellectual  position  does  not  diflFer 
psychologically  from  another.  Hence  the  very  admission  that 
there  is  such  a  thing  as  the  psychology  of  religion  presupposes 
that  we  mean  by  religion  something  else  than  a  theological  af- 
firmation. 

Eor  a  somewhat  similar  reason  the  student  of  the  psychology 
of  religion  will  hesitate  to  accept  Durkheim's  (much  more  satis- 
factory) view  which  seeks  for  the  essential  characteristic  of  reli- 
gion in  the  distinction  between  the  sacred  and  the  profane.  A 
definition  of  religion  based  on  this  distinction  makes  a  very  prac- 
tical working  hypothesis  for  the  sociologist,  as  is  shown  in  Durk- 
heim's long  and  admirable  work,  "  The  Elementary  Forms  of 
the  Religious  Life,"  ^  in  which  this  position  is  maintained  and 
illustrated.  But  the  book  shows  no  less  clearly  that  Durkheim's 
identification  of  religion  with  the  idea  of  the  sacred  has  notable 
limitations,  particularly  from  the  psychologist's  point  of  view. 
It  describes  fairly  enough  the  religion  of  the  tribes  of  central 
Australia ;  but  it  leaves  out  of  account  much  that  is  of  im- 
portance in  the  religion  of  the  modern  civilized  man.  Many 
religious  beliefs  and  religious  rites  upon  which  groups  or  com- 
munities agree,  and  which  may  be  studied  objectively,  come 
well  enough  under  Durkheim's  formula ;  but  the  mental  attitude 
of  the  modern  religious  individual  contains  a  good  deal  which 
we  should  have  to  leave  out  were  we  to  confine  our  study  to  the 
limits  set  by  Durkheim's  method  of  stating  the  problem.  His 
definition  is  devised  for  the  use  of  sociology ;  but  it  is  the  func- 
tion of  the  psychology  of  religion  to  describe  a  large  number 

5Cf.  Hebert,  "  Le  Divin "    (Paris,  Mean:    1907),  pp.   186-195,  and  the 
cases  there  cited  from  Arreat's  and  Flournoy's  and  Leuba's  collections. 
•  London,  Macmillan :   1915. 


EELIGION  6 

of  facts  and  to  face  a  variety  of  problems  whicli  cannot  be  stated 
in  terms  of  group  consciousness  and  which  have  no  significant 
relation  to  the  distinction  between  the  sacred  and  the  profane. 

Both  the  theological  and  the  sociological  definitions  of  reli- 
gion are,  therefore,  too  narrow  to  be  entirely  satisfactory  as 
bases  for  a  psychological  study  of  religion.  On  the  other  hand 
it  is  possible  to  make  the  definition  of  religion  so  broad  and 
inclusive  as  to  empty  it  of  all  particular  meaning.  If  religion 
is  everything  it  will  cease  to  be  anything.  If,  as  we  are  some- 
times enthusiastically  told,  all  thoughts,  all  feelings,  all  voli- 
tions of  all  men  are  always  religious,  then  religion  becomes 
synonymous  with  consciousness,  and  we  have  simply  lost  one 
good  old  word  out  of  our  language. 

The  definition  I  have  suggested  above  aims  to  avoid  both  the 
extremes  of  narrowness  and  of  excessive  breadth.  It  does  not 
necessarily  presuppose  that  all  men  are  religious  —  they  are  so 
only  if  they  believe  in  a  Power  that  has  ultimate  control  over 
their  destinies,  and  only  if  this  Power  is  sufficiently  real  in  their 
minds  for  them  to  have  a  conscious  attitude  toward  it  which  in 
some  faint  way  might  be  called  social.  I  do  not  know  that  all 
men  have  this  attitude.  It  may  be  that  there  are  moments  in 
the  lives  of  all  when  they  do  —  if  so  all  men  have  religious  mo- 
ments. If  not,  then  there  are  some  completely  irreligious  per- 
sons. There  certainly  are  millions  who  are  irreligious  nearly 
all  the  time  and  in  whose  lives  religion  plays  a  very  negligible 
part.  On  the  other  hand,  our  proposed  definition  would  recog- 
nize many  an  atheist  as  religious  —  and  I  do  not  see  how  we 
can  avoid  doing  so  if  we  are  to  regard  religion  as  a  psycholog- 
ical object.'^  Certainly  our  definition  would  find  a  great  deal 
more  religion  in  some  agnostics  than  in  many  church-goers.  A 
man  may  go  to  Church  all  his  life  as  the  conventional  ''  thing- 
to-do,"  he  may  repeat  the  Creed  every  Simday  and  never  doubt 
one  of  its  assertions,  and  yet  the  problems  of  Nature  and  Des- 
tiny may  be  so  far  removed  from  all  his  thought,  and  the  God 
of  whom  4he  Creed  speaks  may  be  so  unreal  to  him  that  he  can- 

T  Whether  under  the  proposed  definition  one  could  speak  of  such  a  posi- 
tion as  that  of  Mr.  Bertrand  Russell  as  religious  is  indeed  a  question;  but 
certainly  his  attitude  toward  the  logical  and  aesthetic  aspects  of  reality  is 
closely  related  to  religion.  See  his  essay  on  "  A  Free  Man's  Worship," 
reprinted  in  "Mysticism  and  Logic"    (London,  Longmans:   1918). 


6  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

not  justly  be  said  to  have  any  conscious  attitude  toward  ITim 
or  any  other  cos^nic  reality.  The  cosmic  realities  and  pos- 
sibilities may  be  completely  barred  from  his  thought  by  Steel 
Common  and  the  price  of  eggs.  To  such  a  man  God  is  not 
sufficiently  real  even  to  be  doubted.  It  was  something  like  this 
that  Tennyson  had  in  mind  when  he  wrote, 

"  There  is  more  faith  in  honest  doubt. 
Believe  me,  than  in  half  the  creeds." 

The  reference  to  "  faith  ''  and  to  "  cosmic  realities  "  which 
seems  to  have  crept  in  inevitably,  brings  up  the  question  of  the 
relation  of  religion  to  theological  belief,  and  it  may  as  well  be 
dealt  with  at  once.  And  first  of  all  it  must  be  said  most  em- 
phatically that  religion  is  not  theology.  It  differs  from  theol- 
ogy and  philosophy  and  science  in  that  it  consciously  cares  for 
the  ultimate  cosmic  problems  not  on  their  own  account  but  from 
practical  and  personal  considerations.  It  is  not  a  doctrine  nor 
a  law  nor  an  hypothesis  but  an  attitude,  and  essentially  an  atti- 
tude of  expectancy.  Its  real  and  basal  question  is  not,  What 
is  the  Cause  or  the  Ultimate  Nature  of  the  World  ?  but  What  is 
going  to  become  of  me  —  or  of  us  —  and  what  is  the  attitude 
of  the  Determiner  of  Destiny  toward  us  and  our  interests  ? 

This  subjective  nature  of  religion  seems  to  be  almost  a  dis- 
covery of  our  own  times.  The  Eighteenth  Century  practically 
identified  religion  with  theolog\^,  and  it  was  not  till  after  the 
psychology  of  Schleiermacher,  on  the  one  hand,  and  the  evolu- 
tionary point  of  view  on  the  other  got  well  ingrained  in  the 
minds  of  writers  on  religion  that  the  relatively  subordinate 
position  of  any  particular  belief  within  the  life  of  religion  was 
appreciated.  The  origin  of  religion  is  now  sought  for  not  in 
any  external  revelation  but  within  the  subjective  needs  of  hu- 
man nature,  and  its  development  is  to  be  traced  through  purely 
j"^  human  influences,  as  is  the  case  with  language,  morality,  and 
'  art.  Thus  we  have  come  to  see  that  religion  is  essentially  a 
human  thing,  a  biological  product  and  instrument,  that  it  is  to 
be  understood  better  by  observing  its  functions  than  by  analyz- 
ing any  of  its  particular  doctrines,  and  that  it  is  to  be  judged 
by  the  way  it  works  rather  than  to  be  tested  by  logical  canons 


KELIGION  7 

as  an  intellectual  system.^  Religion  is  not  ^o  much  theology 
as  life ;  it  is  to  be  lived  rather  than  reasoned  about. 

In  short,  religion  is  not  a  theory  about  reality ;  it  is  a  reality. 
And  yet  we  must  not  forget  that  it  is  a  reality  which  includes  a 
theory.  The  fact  that  it  has  had  a  subjective  origin  and  growth 
of  much  the  same  nature  as  language,  morality,  and  art,  must 
not  hide  from  us  the  other  fact  that  it  involves  an  outer  refer- 
ence of  a  sort  that  these  do  not.  It  is  an  attitude  toward  the 
powers  in  ultimate  control  of  one's  destiny,  and  hence  involves 
a  belief  in  such  powers.  This  belief  need  not  be  explicit  — 
often,  especially  in  early  times,  it  is  not  so.  But  if  it  is  not 
explicit  it  is  at  any  rate  implicit;  and  inevitably  for  most  of 
us  moderns  it  is  to  a  considerable  extent  actually  explicit.^  In 
one  way  or  another,  then,  religion  always  and  necessarily  in- 
volves some  sort  of  theology,  some  sort  of  belief  about  the  ulti- 
mate Determiner  of  Destiny.  Religion  is  not  merely  a  feeling ; 
it  is,  as  Professor  James  says,  "a  postulator  of  new  facts  as 
well."  It  takes  itself  seriously,  and  is  not  satisfied  with  being 
simply  comforting  and  "  useful " ;  it  means  to  be  also  trtbe. 
The  religious  consciousness  inevitably  considers  its  religion 
objective  as  well  as  subjective.  And  if  it  be  said  that  the  value 
of  religion  at  any  rate  is  subjective  only,  then  at  least  religion 
must  not  know  that  this  is  the  case ;  for  if  it  learned  the  secret 
both  its  value  and  it  would  cease  to  be  even  subjective. 

This  fact  that  religion  is  an  attitude  that  involves  a  belief 
differentiates  it  from  morality.  No  one  indeed  can  deny  that 
the  two  are  very  closely  related,  that  in  origin  they  were  hardly 
distinguishable  and  in  development  have  gone  side  by  side,  nor 
that  the  two  may  and  should  command  the  same  things.  This 
almost  inextricable  relation  of  morality  and  religion  has  been 
influential  in  determining  much  that  is  loftiest  and  best  in  the 
messages  of  all  the  prophets  and  great  religious  leaders  of  every 
religion,  and  it  was  this  upon  which  Jesus  laid  peculiar  em- 

«  Cf.  Prof.  Foster's  admirable  little  book,  "  The  Function  of  Religion  in 
Man's  Struggle  for  Existence "  ( Chicago,  University  of  Chicago  Press : 
1909). 

9  This  is  true  of  all  religions  that  have  reached  the  stage  which  Bousset 
calls  "Religions  of  the  Law."  See  his  "What  is  Religion"  (London, 
Fisher  Unwin:   1907),  Chap.  V. 


8  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

phasis.  The  difTerent  "  historical  religions,"  in  fact,  are  dif- 
ferentiated from  each  other  largely  by  the  moral  ideals  they 
uphold,  and  hence  may  be  said  to  be  characterized  chiefly  by 
their  ethical  teacliingn.  In  fact  these  "  historical  religions  " 
regularly  contain  two  quite  distinguishable,  though  also  quite 
inseparable,  moments :  an  attitude  toward  the  Controller  of 
Destiny  and  a  system  of  teachings  about  the  conduct  of  life. 
In  every  well  formed  religion,  indeed,  each  of  these  is  the 
natural  or  inevitable  correlate  of  the  other,  but  they  are  still 
theoretically  distinguishable.  Hence  each  of  these  religions 
may  be  said  to  be  both  a  religion  and  a  system  of  ethics.  With 
this  explanation  I  trust  it  will  not  seem  paradoxical  if  I  say 
that  while  every  "  religion  "  is  in  part  morality,  religion  and 
morality  as  such  are  not  identical. 

The  fact  that  both  religious  and  moral  elements  are  to  be 
found  in  every  great  religion  and  are  always  closely  associated 
will  explain  why  so  many  writers  have  almost  completely  iden- 
tified the  two.  From  the  time  of  St.  James  to  the  appearance 
of  the  latest  book  on  the  subject  we  have  been  told  that  pure 
religion  consists  in  visiting  the  orphan  and  widow  in  their  afflic- 
tion and  in  keeping  oneself  unspotted  from  the  world — in  other 
words,  in  personal  and  social  morality.  This  identification  of 
religion  with  morality  —  especially  with  social  morality  —  is 
defended  at  length  in  Professor  Ames's  admirable  "  Psychology 
of  Religious  Experience."  Religion  is  there  defined  as  ^^  the 
consciousness  of  the  highest  social  values  "  ^^,  and  throughout 
the  book  this  view  that  religion  is  simply  social  righteousness  is 
continually  restated  and  freshly  illustrated.  Thus  "  non-re- 
ligious persons,"  to  whom  Ames  devotes  a  chapter,  are  those 
who,  for  lack  of  some  mental  endo^vment,  are  not  interested  in 
the  welfare  of  society,  whereas  the  typically  religious  people 
are  those  who  work  for  social  improvement.  More  explicitly 
his  position  is  expressed  thus :  "  The  term  moral  has  been  used 
to  designate  those  ideals  which  pertain  particularly  to  human 
social  welfare,  in  distinction  from  the  claims  of  religion  which 
seeks  authority  for  conduct  in  the  will  of  a  Deity.  The  con- 
trast between  moral  and  religious  conduct  belongs  to  that  con- 

10  "The    Psycholoj^y    of    "Religious    Experience."     (Boston,    Houghton, 
Mifflin:   1910)   pp.  VII,  168,  169,  and  in  fact  throughout. 


EELIGIOI^  9 

ception  of  the  world  which  makes  a  rigid  distinction  between 
the  natural  and  the  supernatural,  between  the  human  and  the 
divine.  But  if  religion  is  identified  with  the  most  intimate 
and  vital  phases  of  the  social  consciousness,  then  the  distinc- 
tion between  morality  and  religion  is  not  real.  .  .  .  All  moral 
ideals  are  religious  in  the  degree  to  which  they  are  expressions 
of  great  vital  interests  of  society.  .  .  .  The  attempt  to  delimit 
the  field  of  natural  morality  from  religion  presupposes  in  the 
older  writers  a  dualism  between  human  and  divine,  natural 
and  ^  regenerate '  natures.  Without  the  definite  assumption 
of  this  dualism  the  line  between  morality  and  religion  becomes 
obscure  and  tends  to  vanish  completely."  ^^ 

As  was  said  some  time  ago,  every  one,  in  a  sense,  has  a  right 
to  make  his  own  definitions  for  his  own  terms,  provided  he 
will  take  the  consequences.  But  while  this  is  true  abstractly, 
it  would  seem  that  something  is  due  to  the  traditional  uses  of 
the  language  in  which  one  happens  to  be  writing.  No  one  can 
be  logically  restrained  from  defining  religion  as  morality.  But 
it  should  at  least  be  pointed  out  that  to  do  so  is  to  depart  from 
the  usages  of  the  English  tongue.  And  it  would  seem  that 
before  appropriating  a  common  and  useful  though  somewhat 
indefinite,  old  word  such  as  religion,  and  making  it  exactly 
synonymous  and  interchangeable  with  another  common  word, 
morality.  Professor  Ames  and  the  numerous  writers  who  agree 
with  him  should  at  least  coin  for  us  a  new  word  which  we  might 
use  in  place  of  the  old  one.  For,  call  it  what  you  will,  there  is 
in  most  human  lives  an  attitude  toward  the  Determiner  of 
Destiny  which  simply  is  not  to  be  identified  with  social  righte- 
ousness or  any  other  kind  of  morality.  And  this  attitude  cer- 
tainly approaches  much  more  closely  to  the  common  meaning  of 
the  English  word  religion  than  does  the  very  admirable  thing 
which  Professor  Ames  has  suggested  as  the  equivalent  of  the 
term.  It  is  this  attitude  —  not  morality  —  that  one  expects  to 
read  about  in  a  book  on  religion.  And  if  religion  be  the  sort 
of  attitude  I  have  suggested,  then  it  is  perfectly  possible  that  a 
religious  man  may  be  immoral  and  that  a  moral  man  may  be 
irreligious.  A  deeply  religious  man  indeed  is  not  likely  to  sin 
greatly  against  his  own  code  of  morality,  and  his  religion  will, 

"Pp.  285-87. 


10         THE  rp:ligious  consciousness 

in  fact,  be  liis  greatest  help  toward  righteousness.  Keligion  and 
morality  may  and  often  do  and  always  should  lay  down  the  same 
eommands.  But  though  thus  intimately  ronnected,  they  are  for 
all  that  quite  disting\iishahle.  Tveligion  if  taken  seriously  and 
rationally  will  be  deeply  moral ;  but  it  is  not  morality.^^ 

One  of  the  sentences  quoted  above  from  Professor  Ames  is 
certainly  irrefutable  —  namelv  this:  "  If  rcli^rion  is  identified 
with  the  most  intimate  and  vital  phases  of  the  social  conscious- 
ness, then  the  distinction  between  morality  and  religion  is  not 
real."  Surely  this  is  so.  If  religion  be  so  identified  then  it 
becomes  thereby  morality.  Hence  the  question  of  the  relation 
of  religion  and  morality  is  seen  to  be  closely  connected  with 
the  further  question  of  the  social  nature  of  religion.  The 
definition  I  have  suggested  would  of  course  make  it  something 
more  than  the  "  consciousness  of  the  highest  social  values  " ; 
but  beyond  this  there  arises  the  farther  consideration  of  the 
part  played  by  society  and  by  the  individual  in  religion. 

The  last  twenty-five  years  have  witnessed  one  of  those  re- 
markable intellectual  epidemics  to  which  the  human  race  is 
so  notably  subject.  If  this  were  a  book,  not  on  the  psychology 
of  religion,  but  on  the  psychology  of  philosophy,  several  chap- 
ters might  very  well  be  devoted  to  the  very  striking  way  in 
which  the  "  cold  intellect  "  gets  innoculated  with  abstract  and 
academic  theories  —  a  way  quite  comparable  to  that  in  which 
fevers,  slang,  styles  of  dress  and  religious  enthusiasms  spread. 
In  the  Eighteenth  Century  it  was  the  idea  of  the  individual  that 
was  contagious.  The  Twentieth  Century  is  soundly  cured  of 
that  excess  (fortunately  for  us)  and  the  importance  of  the 
"  social  "  is  to-day  receiving  at  last  its  due.^^  Especially  is 
this  the  case  w^th  the  study  of  religion.  The  Eighteenth  Cen- 
tury regarded  religion  as  purely  an  individual  matter,  and 
even  such  recent  writers  as  Max  Miiller  and  C.  P.  Tiele  speak 
of  the  religion  of  primitive  men  as  though  it  were  purely  a  re- 
lation between  the  individual   and  the   "  Infinite ''   whom  he 

12  Cf.  further  Professor  Palmer's  "  Tlie  Field  of  Ethics  "  (Boston,  Hough- 
ton, Mifflin:  1902)  Chap.  IV,  esp.  pp.  177-82,  and  Hebert,  op.  cit.  pp.  178-86. 

13  Cf .  Warner  Fite,  "  The  Exaggeration  of  the  Social,"  Jour,  of  Phil,  IV, 
pp.  393-96. 


KELIGIOl^  11 

"  perceives,"  ^*  or  "  apprehends."  ^^  The  present  reaction 
against  this  view  is  so  violent  that  perhaps  I  may  be  excused 
for  having  referred  to  it  as  an  "  epidemic."  Professor  Ames's 
view  of  religion  as  a  form  of  social  consciousness,  quoted  above, 
is  typical  of  nearly  all  the  recent  treatments  of  the  subject. 
Professor  Irving  King  ^^  expresses  himself  in  almost  the  same 
way  as  Professor  Ames.  Mr.  Jevons  distinguishes  religion 
from  fetichism  and  from  magic  purely  by  its  social  nature. 
"  Religion  is  social,  an  affair  of  the  community ;  fetichism  is 
anti-social,  condemned  by  the  community."  "  A  god  is  not 
merely  a  power  conceived  of  intellectually  and  felt  emotionally 
to  be  a  personal  power  from  whom  things  may  be  hoped  and 
feared;  he  must  indeed  be  a  personal  power  and  be  regarded 
with  hope  and  fear,  but  it  is  by  a  community  that  he  must  be  so 
regarded."  ^'^  From  a  different  point  of  view  but  in  essential 
harmony  with  the  authors  cited.  Professor  Patten  begins  his 
recent  work  on  "  The  Social  Basis  of  Religion  "  ^®  with  these 
words :  '^  This  book  .  .  .  identifies  religion,  not  with  mor- 
ality, but  with  the  social  reaction  against  degeneration  and 
vice."  And  Professor  Durkheim  defines  religious  beliefs  and 
practices  as  those  which  carry  with  them  social  obligation,  and 
insists  that  religion  is  altogether  a  social  phenomenon. -^^ 

It  was,  indeed,  high  time  the  social  element  received  its 
proper  emphasis,  and  that  religion  was  seen  to  be  as  much  a- 
matter  of  the  community  as  of  the  individual.  Especially  from 
an  historical  point  of  view  are  the  authors  quoted,  and  others 
like  them,  justified  in  their  insistence  that  religion  has  always 
sprung  out  of  a  social  background  and  has  never  been  the  prod-- 
uct  of  a  single  individual.     Among  primitive  peoples  particu- 

1*  Max  Miiller,  "  Lectures  on  the  Origin  and  Growth  of  Religion."  (Lon- 
don, Longmans:   lOOL)     Lecture  I. 

15  C.  P.  Tiele,  "  Elements  of  the  Science  of  Religion."  (Edinburgh,  Black- 
wood: 1897  and  1899)  Vol.  II,  pp.  230-231. 

18  "  The  Development  of  Religion,"  passim. 

IT  "  Introduction  to  the  Study  of  Comparative  Religion."  (New  York, 
Macmillan:  1908),  pp.  126,  130-37.  See  also  pp.  95,  121,  217  and  his  "In- 
troduction to  the  Study  of  the  History  of  Religion."  (London,  Methuen: 
1904),  pp.  101,  166,  177-78. 

18  New  York,  Macmillan:   1911. 

19 "  De  la  Definition  des  Phenom&nea  religieux."  L'Annee  Sociologique, 
Vol.  II,  pp.  1-28.  See  also  his  "  Elementary  Forms  of  the  Religious  Life," 
passim. 


12  THE  KELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

larly  is  the  social  nature  of  religion  marked.  The  lonely  sav- 
age —  the  "  poor  Indian  "  —  on  his  lofty  mountain  top  *'  per- 
ceiving the  Infinite  "  is  a  myth.  "  Individual  religion  '^  is  sim- 
ply not  to  be  found  among  primitive  races  and  is,  in  fact, 
among  them  almost  unthinkable.  Later  on  I  hope  to  deal  more 
at  length  with  the  influence  of  society  upon  religion,  but  here, 
at  the  very  start,  it  must  be  recognized  that  religion  in  all  its 
actual  historical  forms  is  always  to  a  great  extent  a  social 
product. 

Our  recognition  of  this  fact,  however,  need  not  and  should 
not  carry  us  to  the  extreme  of  forgetting  that  religion  has  often 
been  in  part  also  a  product  of  the  individual.  Upon  the  more 
primitive  forms  of  religion  the  individual  has  probably  had 
only  microscopic  influence  —  just  how  much  influence  he  has 
had  in  any  given  case  it  is  simply  impossible  for  us  to  calculate. 
But  certainly  in  the  great  prophetic  religions,  the  individual 
has  had  a  great  deal  of  influence.  Buddhism  without  Gautama 
and  Christianity  without  Jesus  would  resemble  strikingly  Ham- 
let without  Hamlet.  Of  course  the  religion  even  of  the  found- 
ers has  been  largely  the  product  of  social  forces.  But  this  is 
true  of  poetry,  art,  invention  and  every  human  product,  and  it  is 
therefore  quite  misleading  to  speak  of  religion  as  peculiarly  so- 
cial in  its  nature.  Very  often,  on  the  contrary,  a  man's  religion 
is  the  most  ''  individual ''  thing  about  him.  And  it  is  particu- 
larly important  to  note  that  as  culture  and  thought  advance  reli- 
gion becomes  more  and  more  individual  and  constantly  less  de- 
pendent on  social  forms  and  sanctions.  The  modern  American 
and  European  have  a  direct  sense  of  their  individual  relation  to 
the  Determiner  of  Destiny  which,  though  in  a  sense  (like  every- 
thing else)  largely  the  product  of  society,  it  would  be  mislead- 
ing to  call  social.  Primitive  religion,  which  is  to-day  receiv- 
ing so  much  careful  study  is,  indeed,  predominantly  social,  and 
its  nature  certainly  throws  considerable  light  on  religion  as 
such.  Yet  we  must  not  forget  (as  the  students  of  primitive  re- 
ligion seem  often  to  do)  that  the  modern  man  is  as  genuinely 
religious  as  the  savage ;  and  that  the  real  nature  of  religion  may 
be  as  truly  seen  in  one's  next  door  neighbor  as  in  the  Toda 
of  Central  India  or  the  Semite  of  1500  B.  C. 

Religion  is  the  product  both  of  society  and  of  the  individual. 


EELIGION  13 

It  also  gets  itself  expressed  both  in  society  and  in  the  individual. 
The  social  expression  of  religion  so  far  forth  as  it  is  a  matter 
of  externals  belongs  not  to  the  psychology  of  religion  but  to 
history,  anthropology,  and  allied  sciences.  As  psychologists 
we  are  interested  primarily  in  the  way  religion  manifests  itself 
in  the  thoughts  and  feelings  and  activities  of  individuals  (i.  e. 
of  individuals  in  society).  It  may  therefore  not  be  out  of  place 
to  close  this  chapter,  which  aims  to  give  a  general  view  of 
the  nature  of  religion,  with  a  consideration  of  certain  types  of 
religion  as  it  gets  expressed  in  individual  men  and  women. 
This  relatively  concrete  manner  of  treatment  should,  I  think, 
show  much  more  clearly  what  sort  of  thing  religion  is  than  any 
amount  of  abstract  discussion. 

In  an  earlier  work  ^^  I  divided  religious  belief  into  three 
chief  types, —  "  primitive  credulity,"  ^'  intellectual  belief  "  and 
"  emotional  belief."  The  first  two  of  these  terms  explain  them- 
selves, while  the  last  was  made  to  include  "  the  will  to  believe  " 
and  Mysticism.  In  his  great  work,  ^^  The  Mystical  Element  of 
Religion,"  ^^  Baron  von  Hiigel  makes  use  of  practically  the 
same  division,  applying  it,  however,  not  simply  to  belief,  but 
to  religion  as  a  whole.  This  triple  division,  in  fact,  he  re- 
gards as  ultimately  based  upon  the  structure  of  the  ideo-motor 
arc  which  begins  with  sense-impression,  moves  through  the  cen- 
tral process  of  reflection,  and  ends  in  the  final  discharge  of  the 
will  in  action.^^  Religion  has  thus  three  aspects,  (1)  the 
'^traditional"  or  '^  historical,"  (2)  the  "rational,"  and  (3) 
the  '^  volitional  "  or  '^  mystical." 

The  tendency  to  divide  things  into  threes  is  certainly  one  of 
the  curiosities  of  human  nature.  We  may  seek  to  justify  it 
according  to  our  taste  by  appeal  to  the  Reflex  Arc,  the  Hegelian 
Dialectic,  or  the  Holy  Trinity.  But  whatever  its  origin,  I 
believe  an  unprejudiced  empirical  study  of  the  facts  will  show 
that  both  von  HligePs  triad  and  mine  are  too  simple  and  that 
the  last  member  in  both  cases  will  have  to  be  expanded,  giving  us 
(alas!)  four  types  or  aspects  instead  of  three.  For  certainly 
the  "  will  to  believe  "  and  the  active,  volitional,  practical  ex- 

20  "The  Psychology  of  Religious  Belief"  (New  York,  Macmillan:  1907). 

21  Tx)ndon  and  New  York,  Dent  &  Co. :  190i>. 

22  Vol.  I,  pp.  52  and  57. 


14  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

pression  of  rolipoii  are  as  far  removed  from  the  mystical  form 
of  religion  and  heliof  as  they  are  from  the  intellectual. 

I  think,  therefore,  we  shall  he  justified  in  saying  there  are 
four  typical  aspects  of  religion,  or,  if  you  like,  four  tempera- 
mental kinds  of  religion: —  (1)  the  traditional  which  takes  its 
attitude  from  the  authority  of  the  Past  —  from  parents,  teach- 
ers, tradition,  the  Church,  etc;  (2)  the  rational,  which  seeks 
to  free  itself  altogether  from  authority  and  to  base  itself  purely 
on  reason  and  the  facts  of  verifiable  experience;  (3)  the  mys- 
tical which  appeals  solely  to  a  particular  kind  of  experience 
and  a  kind  that  is  peculiarly  subjective  and  hence  not  scien- 
tificaJly  verifiable;  (4)  the  practical  or  moral  which  lays 
the  emphasis  ujx)n  the  thing  that  must  be  done  rather  than 
upon  the  thing  that  must  be  believed  or  felt.  All  four  of  these 
aspects  of  religion  are  to  be  found  in  every  genuinely  religious 
person  and  in  varying  degree  according  to  circumstances  and 
particularly  according  to  age.  Thus  the  child  is  characterized 
almost  entirely  by  traditional  religion,  the  adolescent  is  an  es- 
I>ecially  good  example  of  the  rational  and  sometimes  of  the  mys- 
tical aspects,  while  in  middle  life  any  one  of  the  four  aspects 
may  be  most  prominent,  and  here  the  practical  or  moral  ele- 
ment certainly  gets  its  best  development. 
y  (1)  The  traditional  aspect  manifests  itself  under  many 
forms.  It  first  appears  in  the  religion  of  the  child  who  accepts 
ever^i:hing  that  is  told  him  because  it  is  as  yet  out  of  the  ques- 
tion for  him  to  doubt  anything.  It  characterizes  most  unthink- 
ing adults  who  have  little  or  no  religious  feeling  and  who  if  still 
religious  at  all  are  so  largely  from  habit  and  by  inertia.  A 
very  different  class  of  persons  whose  religion  is  chiefly  tra- 
ditional is  constituted  by  those  very  earnest  and  genuinely  re- 
ligious souls  who  find  in  the  traditions  and  forms  of  their 
Church  something  so  august  or  so  beautiful,  and  withal  so  au- 
thoritative, that  they  have  only  a  deaf  ear  for  any  protests  their 
intellects  may  offer,  and  their  own,  sometimes  well-developed, 
mvstical  tendencies  are  made  subservient  to  the  dominant  de- 
mands  of  the  Tradition  which  they  love. 

We  all  start  in  as  formalists  and  all  historical  religions  in- 
evitably contain  and  probably  always  will  retain  a  good  deal 
of  the  purely  traditional.     Man  never  has  been,  and  presum- 


RELIGIO:^  15 

ably  never  will  be,  a  mere  reasoning  being,  and  even  if  he  were 
he  would  have  to  accept  from  the  accumulation  of  social  tra- 
dition most  of  the  material  about  which  he  is  to  reason.  And 
the  traditional  aspect  of  religion  constitutes  a  large  part  of 
its  social  nature.  As  Father  Tyrrell  said  in  commenting  upon 
von  HiigePs  book :  "  Religion  is  institutional  just  because  it  is 
social ;  because  it  is  only  through  the  educational  influence  of 
society  that  the  communised  religious  experience  and  reflection 
of  the  past  generations  are  brought  to  bear  upon  us  so  as  to 
waken,  guide  and  stimulate  our  religious  faculty,  which  else 
might  remain  dormant,  or  at  best  only  reach  a  rudimentary 
development."  ^^  The  legitimate  end  of  institutionalism  is  to 
reproduce  the  common  and  traditional  type  of  religion  in  the 
individual  soul ;  and  this,  not  by  way  of  violent  insertion  from 
the  outside,  but  by  stimulating  and  guiding  the  natural  process 
of  spiritual  growth.''  ^^ 

Such  are  the  uses  and  such  the  normal  development  of  insti- 
tutional or  traditional  religion.  It  probably  reaches  its  highest 
sane  and  healthy  condition  in  the  Protestant  Episcopal  Church. 
Its  dangers  are  equally  obvious.  The  traditionalist  is  so  in  love 
with  his  own  lovely  form  or  glorious  tradition  that  he  is  sadly 
liable  to  blindness  for  all  else.  Institutionalism  if  left  to  itself 
tends  to  develop  a  narrow  exclusiveness  and  intolerance  which 
sees  no  good  in  anything  but  its  own  form  and  tradition.  And 
worst  of  all  it  is  so  bound  to  the  past  that  further  development 
through  reason  and  personal  experience  are  made  almost  im- 
possible. The  old  is  so  fine  that  the  new  cannot  be  good.  God 
having  spoken  once  for  all  need  never  speak  again.  Hence 
it  has  ever  been  the  priest  who  has  most  opposed  the  prophet. 
The  mystic  who  trusts  his  vision  and  the  thinker  who  dares  fol- 
low his  reason  have  no  place  within  the  fold  of  a  stiff  ecclecias- 
ticism.  "  Its  object  is  not  merely  to  give  a  certain  bias  —  that 
is  the  object  of  every  educational  institution  —  but  to  make 
the  subject  immune  against  all  other  influences  to  which  he 
may  be  exposed  in  the  course  of  his  life.  It  is  not  so  much  the 
more  or  less  unconscious  giving  a  bent  that  is  in  question;  it 
is  the  giving  a  bent  which  is,  so  to  speak,  itself  a  bent  to  a 

23  George  Tyrrell,  *' The  Mystical  Element  of  Religion."     Quarterly  Re- 
view, CCXI,  101-126. 


16  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

bent.  It  is  the  deliberate  effort  to  prevent  a  man  ever  coming 
into  the  rights  of  his  reason  on  the  assumption  that,  in  the 
most  important  matters,  the  reason  is  incompetent."  ^* 

Thus  the  religion  of  traditionalism  if  left  to  itself,  without 
the  fresh  air  of  the  reason  and  the  warm  life  of  the  mystic  ex- 
perience, becomes  cold,  dead,  and  untrue.  It  inevitably  dwarfs, 
dries  up,  and  stultifies  those  who  yield  themselves  altogether  to 
it.  And  when  carried  to  its  extreme  form  it  ceases  to  be  re- 
ligion ;  for  it  becomes  so  preoccupied  with  the  sacred  rite  or  the 
pious  form  of  words  handed  down  and  sanctioned  by  the  Past, 
that  both  cease  to  have  any  meaning.  Examples  approximating 
to  this  extreme  are  to  be  found  in  the  Christianity  of  the  Greek 
Church  and  the  Buddhism  of  China  in  their  worst  forms. 
Wlien  the  cosmic  background  is  thus  lost  from  sight  the  per- 
formance ceases  to  arouse  or  to  imply  any  attitude  toward 
the  Determiner  of  Destiny,  and  thus  becomes  merely  tradi- 
tional mummery  and  ceases  to  be  in  any  sense  religious. 

(2)  The  great  foe  of  excessive  institutionalism  is  rationalism. 
It  is  largely  by  means  of  the  constant  exercise  of  the  reason 
upon  matters  religious  that  religion  is  kept  young  and  in  touch 
with  the  rest  of  the  life  of  man.  The  Eighteenth  Century  re- 
garded religion  altogether  as  a  matter  of  reason  and,  while  not 
every  one  would  admit  that  we  have  swung  too  far  in  the  op- 
posite direction,  there  certainly  is  a  tendency  in  many  con- 
temporary writers  to  undervalue  the  position  which  the  in- 
tellect does  and  should  hold  in  the  religious  life.  Though 
many  deeply  religious  people  do  very  little  reasoning  upon  their 
beliefs,  there  is  a  type  of  mind  equally  religious  and  equally 
admirable  for  whom  religion  is  very  largely  a  rational  mat- 
ter and  one  which  could  hardly  be  prized  were  it  otherwise. ^^ 
Such  a  condition  do  we  find,  for  instance,  in  St.  Augustine,  in 
Spinoza,  and  in  Martineau.  The  religious  body  which  most 
manifestly  displays  it  is  probably  the  Unitarian. 

24  Lowes  Dickinson,  "Religion;  a  Criticism  and  a  Forecast,"  pp.  16-17; 
Cf.  also  von  Hiigel,  pp.  70-72;  and  Tyrrell,  p.  108. 

25  This  very  real  aspect  of  the  religious  consciousness,  so  often  neglected 
nowadays,  is  admirably  set  forth  in  Professor  Hebert's  little  book  "  La 
Forme  Idealiste  du  Sentiment  Religieux  "  (Paris,  Emile  Nourry:  1909.) 


RELIGIOlSr  17 

But  like  ecclesiasticism,  rationalism  also  has  its  dangers  and 
may  be  carried  too  far.  Not  indeed  that  one  can  ever  be  too 
rational.  The  danger  from  rationalism  comes  not  from  its 
positive  but  from  its  negative  characteristics.  Human  nature 
is  such  that  if  any  one  part  is  excessively  emphasized  some 
other  part  tends  to  be  dwarfed  and  negated.  Moreover  the  tools 
with  which  the  intellect  works  —  concepts,  hypotheses,  etc.  — 
may  prove  harmful  as  well  as  helpful ;  for  so  serviceable  are 
they  that  the  intellectualist  may  come  to  confuse  them  with 
the  realities  to  which  they  should  simply  lead  him.  "  The 
Analytic  and  Speculative  faculty,''  says  von  Hligel,  "  seems 
habitually,  instinctively  to  labor  at  depersonalizing  all  it 
touches,  and  thus  continually  both  to  undermine  and  discrown 
the  deeply  personal  work  and  world  of  the  experimental  forces 
of  the  soul.  Indeed  the  thinking  seems  to  be  doing  this  neces- 
sarily, since  by  its  very  essence  it  begins  and  ends  with  laws, 
qualities,  functions,  and  parts  —  with  abstractions  which  at 
best  can  be  but  skeletons  and  empty  forms  of  the  real  and  actual, 
and  which  of  themselves  ever  tend  to  represent  all  Reality  as 
something  static,  not  dynamic."  ^^  Your  purely  conceptual 
thinker  is  ever  at  one  remove  from  reality.  And  when  ration- 
alistic religion  reaches  its  extreme  form  —  as  it  does  in  an 
occasional  theologian  or  philosopher  here  and  there  —  it  gets 
altogether  out  of  touch  with  human  life  and  becomes  merely  a 
speculative  and  academic  theory  or  else  a  cold  and  thorough- 
going skepticism.  A  philosophical  hypothesis  is  in  itself  no 
more  an  attitude  toward  the  Universe  and  toward  man's  des- 
tiny than  is  the  binomial  theorem ;  and  when  rationalism  comes 
to  be  merely  such  an  hypothesis  it  is  religious  no  longer.  In 
the  words  of  Jonathan  Edwards,  ^^  he  that  has  doctrinal  knowl- 
edge and  speculation  only,  without  affection,  never  is  engaged 
in  the  business  of  religion."  ^'^ 
jr^  (3)  Against  this  devitalizing  of  religion,  mysticism  (in  the 
large  sense  of  the  word)   is  the  constant  protest  and  the  un- 

26  Op.  cit.  Vol.  I,  p.  76. 

27 "  A    Treatise   Concerning   Religious   Affections."     Part    I,    Section   II. 
It  will  be  found  in  Vol.  Ill  of  Edwards'  collected  "Works"    (New  York, 
•Leavitt  &  Trow:  1844). 


18  THE  KELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

failing  antidote.  Whatever  else  mysticism  may  become  it  is 
at  any  rate  always  alive  and  always  very  real  and  concrete. 
J'And  while  it  would  indeed  be  untrue  to  assert  that  only  the  mys- 
tical are  genuinely  religious,  it  is  safe  to  say  that  all  intensely 
religious  people  have  at  least  a  touch  of  mysticism.  For  the 
mystic's  attitude  toward  the  Determiner  of  Destiny  is  one  of 
intense,  or  at  least,  very  real  emotion.  The  individual's  rela- 
tion to  the  Beyond  not  only  is  believed  in  but  seems  actually  to  be 
experienced ;  and  this  exj>ericnce  is  one  of  the  most  solid  bits  of 
concrete  fact  that  ever  comes  into  human  life.  Later  on  in  this 
book  I  mean  to  give  the  subject  a  rather  exhaustive  study,  and 
therefore  instead  of  describing  it  further  here  I  shall  simply 
refer  the  reader  to  the  chapters  in  which  it  is  treated  (XVI- 
XX).  Here,  however,  let  me  point  out  the  relations  of  mys- 
ticism to  rationalism  and  institutionalism.  Mysticism  has 
something  in  common  with  each  of  these  and  it  also  differs  from 
each.  Hence  one  finds  it  at  times  at  war  with  one  and  in  al- 
liance with  the  other,  and  then  suddenly  changing  front  and 
opposing  its  old  ally  by  the  aid  of  its  old  enemy.  Neither 
of  the  two  does  it  heartily  care  for,  but  of  the  two  it  has  most 
often  chosen  institutionalism  as  its  mate.  This,  as  von  Hiigel 
says,  is  perhaps  ^'  not  hard  to  explain.  For  if  external,  definite 
facts  and  acts  are  found  to  lead  to  certain  internal,  deep,  all 
embracing  emotions  and  experiences,  the  soul  can  to  a  certain 
extent  live  and  thrive  in  and  by  a  constant  moving  backwards 
and  forwards  between  the  Institution  and  the  Emotion,  and  can 
thus  constitute  an  ever-tightening  bond  and  dialogue,  increas- 
ingly exclusive  of  all  else."  ^^  And  perhaps  even  more  im- 
portant as  an  explanation  of  this  rather  strange  alliance  is 
the  common  antipathy  of  both  the  mystic  and  the  priest  for 
the  abstractions  of  the  thinker,  and  for  the  deadening  and  skep- 
tical effect  which  rationalistic  analysis  often  has  alike  upon  the 
glory  of  tradition  and  upon  the  joy  of  ecstasy. 

Yet  mysticism  has  in  common  with  thought  the  love  of  lib- 
erty. Its  truth  is  based  upon  an  immediate,  personal  experi- 
ence, and  hence  it  unites  with  rationalism  in  resenting  the  claims 
of  every  other  authority  than  its  own.  Not  without  reason 
has  the  Church  always  feared  every  popular  outbreak  of  mys- 

28  Op.  cit.  Vol  I,  p.  75. 


KELIGIO:Nr  19 

ticism.  He  who  has  experienced  the  Divine  within  his  own 
heart  is  likely  to  hold  all  formalism  and  tradition  unnecessary 
or  cheap  if  not  misleading  or  even  diabolic. 

This  confidence  in  its  own  all-sufficing  inner  light  and  the 
intense  joy  of  the  experience  have  been  the  two  great  dangers  of 
excessive  mysticism,  when  not  balanced  by  a  suitable  respect 
for  the  inherited  wisdom  of  the  race  and  never  inhibited  by  the 
restraining  hand  of  a  cool  and  sober  reason.  The  mystic  in- 
evitably and  rightly  trusts  his  ow^n  experience.  But  when  hejy/ 
ceases  to  criticize  it  and  ceases  to  trust  anything  else  his  mysti- 
cism becomes  the  most  misleading  form  of  subjectivism  and 
superstition.  And  when  this  inner  joyous  experience  is  nour- 
ished and  coaxed  for  its  own  sake  exclusively,  the  mystic  becomes 
little  better  than  the  sensualist.  This  has  been  the  case  not  in- 
frequently in  India  and  sometimes  also  among  the  neurotic 
eostatics  of  Christendom.  When  this  happens  exaggerated 
mysticism  becomes  a  psychological  method  of  self-gratification 
and  no  longer  an  attitude  toward  the  larger  Beyond.  Hence 
it  too  ceases  to  be  in  any  real  sense  religious. 

(4)  But  very  few  of  the  Christian  mystics  have  carried  their 
mysticism  to  the  extreme  just  described.     And  this  not  because 
they  have  been  less  mystical  than  the  Indian  mystics  but  be- 
cause they  have  been  better  balanced.     Some  of  them  have 
added  as  an  antidote  a  great  reverence  for  the  objective  teach- 
ings and  institutions  of  the  Church.     Some  of  them  have  been 
thinkers  and  have  been  saved  from  the  extremes  of  mysticism 
by  their  reason.     And  some  have  found  in  the  practical  ac- 
tivity of  a  life  of  service  the  counter-balancing  interest  needed 
to  keep  them  healthy  and  sane.     The  effort  of  the  will  in  the  --^ 
service  of  a  moral  ideal  is  one  of  the  great  expressions  of  re- 
ligion; and  to  a  certain  type  of  person,  religion  presents  itself 
chiefly  as  a  moral  matter.     These  people  have  seen  the  futility 
of  any  one  of  the  aspects  of  religion  thus  far  studied  when  taken 
alone,  and  with  one  voice  they  insist  that  faith  without  works 
is  dead.     Religion  they  define  in  the  words  of  Kant  as  the  view- 
ing of  all  our  duties  as  divine  commands.     The  long  line  of 
the  Prophets  of  Israel,  culminating  in  Jesus  himself,  while 
recognizing  the  importance  of  the  three  other  aspects  of  re- 
ligion, put  the  emphasis  here.     Throughout  the  Middle  Ages 


20  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

this  view  of  religion  was  in  part  forgotten  ;  but  we  of  the  Twen- 
tieth Century  seem  to  be  working  back  toward  it  —  or  up  to  it 
—  at  last. 

The  importance  of  morality  is  being  emphasized  not  only 
in  a  positive  but  in  a  negative  fashion.  The  attacks  of  criti- 
cism upon  *^  revealed  theology  "  and  of  science  and  philosophy 
upon  '*  natural  theology  "  are  every  year  weakening  traditional 
and  ''  rational  "  religion.  Thus  there  has  arisen  a  very  com- 
mon feeling,  which  would  have  been  almost  incomprehensible 
to  many  scholastics  of  the  Middle  Ages,  that  one's  faith,  so  far  as 
he  has  any,  must  be  based  on  ''  the  will  to  believe,"  and  that 
to  know  much  about  "  God  "  —  or  even  to  be  sure  that  there 
is  any  God  —  is  quite  beyond  our  power.  As  Leuba  puts  it, 
the  religious  consciousness  cares  very  little  who  God  is  but 
wants  to  use  Him  for  various  purposes.-^  And  many  deeply 
serious  minds,  who  in  the  ^Middle  Ages  would  have  been  among 
the  great  doctors  and  saints  of  the  Church,  are  turning  away 
from  creeds  of  every  sort  to  purely  ethical  effort.  The  Society 
for  Ethical  Culture  with  its  several  branches  and  its  large  ap- 
peal is  typical  of  this  tendency.  Nor  is  this  aspect  of  the  earn- 
est mind  limited  to  our  generation  or  to  Christian  lands.  The 
teaching  of  Buddha  was  quite  comparable  to  it.  Wearied  with 
the  many  gods  and  the  many  ways  of  supernatural  salvation, 
Gautama  sought  —  and  claims  to  have  found  —  a  method  that 
is  both  thoroughly  natural  and  human  and  thoroughly  veri- 
fiable. The  evil  from  which  his  teaching  saves  is  a  very  con- 
crete and  present  one,  and  the  methods  he  uses  ask  nothing 
of  the  divine  and  are  at  the  command  of  whoever  will  try 
them.  His  last  words  were  typical  of  his  whole  teaching,  and 
fundamental  to  it  —  "  Work  out  your  own  salvation  with  dili- 
gence." 

When  one  reaches  this  position  one  is  on  the  very  outer  edge  of 
religion  or  frankly  over  the  line.  If  the  Buddhism  of  Gautama 
is  to  be  classed  as  a  religion  at  all,  it  is  because  the  Founder 
maintained  and  inculcated  not  onlv  a  manner  of  life  but  a 
very  definite  and  earnest  attitude  toward  the  Universe.  Our 
destiny  is  not  merely  in  our  own  hands  but  is  dependent  also 
upon  the  inexorable  Law  of  Karma.     And  a  very  conscious  atti- 

2»"The  Contents  of  the  Religious  Consciousness,"  Monist  XI,  571. 


eeligio:n'  21 

tude  toward  Karma  and  toward  this  evil  world  and  this  miracu- 
lously moral  Universe  is  the  thing  which  'the  Buddhist  monk 
most  persistently  seeks  to  cultivate.  ^^  Were  this  attitude  to- 
ward the  Universe  and  its  laws,  toward  the  ultimate  Determiner 
of  Destiny,  altogether  lacking  (as  with  some  practical  men  it 
may  be)  and  were  Buddhism  merely  a  manner  of  life  and  a  prac- 
tical way  of  avoiding  sorrow,  then  it  is  hard  to  see  how  it  could 
in  any  sense  be  called  a  religion. 

The  moral  aspect  of  religion,  unlike  the  other  types,  retains 
a  great  deal  of  its  value  even  when  unaccompanied  by  the  rest. 
The  purely  abstract  intellectualist  may  be  of  no  great  service 
to  the  community  and  both  the  extreme  formalist  and  the  patho- 
logical ecstatic  may  do  real  harm ;  but  the  moral  man  is  always 
so  far  forth  an  asset  of  the  highest  sort.  If,  however,  in  his 
emphasis  on  moral  activity  he  has  completely  cut  himself  off 
from  the  other  aspects  of  religion  he  cannot  be  called  a  religious 
man.  And  if  religion  has  any  value,  his  life  is  just  that  much 
the  poorer  for  its  loss. 

Doubtless  other  aspects  of  religion  could  be  named  beside 
the  four  I  have  been  dealing  with.  But  I  am  inclined  to  think 
that  any  such  additional  aspects  would  really  be  found  to  be- 
long with  some  of  my  four.  As  I  have  pointed  out,  between 
these  four  religious  tendencies  there  is  likely  to  be  more  or 
less  conflict.  And  yet  each  needs  the  others  to  such  an  extent 
that  without  them  it  would  cease  to  be  religious  at  all.  At 
least  two  of  them  must  be  present  in  every  person  who  is  in  any 
sense  religious.  Probably  all  four  are  to  some  extent  present 
in  nearly  all  of  us.  And  the  ideal  both  for  the  religious  indi- 
vidual and  for  the  religious  society,  church  or  community  is  the 
harmonious  development  and  cooperation  of  all  four. 

30  In  another  connection  I  have  pointed  out  how  the  Karma  of  Buddhism 
makes  a  very  pragmatic  God.  See  my  "India  and  Its  Faiths"  (Boston, 
Houghton  Mifflin:   1915).     Chap.  XIX. 


CHAPTER  II 

THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

Religion  has  been  studied  in  many  ways  and  from  many 
angles,  and  of  these  many  forms  there  are  three  that  deserve 
our  special  attention.  The  first,  the  philosophy  of  religion, 
goes  back  to  the  very  beginning  of  human  thought  and  is,  in 
fact,  the  oldest  form  of  human  reflection.  For  though  our 
"  Histories  of  Philosophy "  usually  begin  with  Thales  and 
water,  Greek  philosophy  has  its  source  nowhere  this  side  of 
Hesiod  and  the  gods;  while  genuinely  philosophical  reflection 
was  busy  long  before  that,  in  the  Upanishads  and  the  Vedas, 
with  Brahman  and  the  Devas.  The  history  of  religion  —  the 
second  of  the  three  forms  of  the  study  of  religion  —  though  not 
so  old  as  its  philosophy,  goes  well  back  into  the  historical  times 
of  Greek  antiquity.  The  psychology  of  religion,  on  the  other 
hand,  the  youngest  of  the  three  sisters,  was  bom  only  within 
our  own  times  and  is  still  hardly  beyond  her  lisping  infancy. 

The  aims  and  methods  of  these  three  pursuits  are,  in  a 
general  way,  clear  from  the  names  they  bear.  The  philosophy 
of  religion,  the  most  ambitious  of  the  three,  is  not  so  much  a 
study  of  religion  as  a  study  of  Reality  and  an  attempt  to  deter- 
mine the  truth  about  the  Determiner  of  Destiny.  The  history 
of  religion  is  much  less  ambitious,  takes  religion  as  it  finds  it, 
whether  true  or  false,  and  seeks  merely  to  discover  how,  as  a 
human  institution,  it  has  developed.  The  psychology  of  re- 
ligion is  more  akin  to  the  second  of  these  than  to  the  first, 
both  in  the  object  of  its  study  and  in  the  humbleness  of  its 
aim.  Like  the  history  of  religion,  it  takes  religion  as  it  finds 
it,  is  interested  in  it  primarily  as  a  great  human  fact,  and  quite 
leaves  out  of  account  the  question  whether  or  not  the  concepts 
of  religion  are  true.  It  differs  from  the  history  of  religion, 
just  as  psychology  differs  from  history.     It  seeks,   in  short, 

to  be  a  science.     Before  going  farther  with  its  aims  and  meth- 

22 


THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  EELIGIOIST  23 

ods,  therefore,  it  will  be  best  to  consider  briefly  what  a  science 
means  to  be.^ 

The  alpha  and  omega  of  science  is  art.  Art  is  its  source  and 
art  its  goal.  And  art  is  here  to  be  understood  in  its  widest 
sense  as  practice  or  reaction.  Necessity  is  the  mother  of  in- 
vention, and  the  need  of  reacting  wisely  upon  the  environ- 
ment goes  before  man's  earliest  search  for  knowledge,  rewards 
and  justifies  his  latest  scientific  achievement,  and  (what  just 
now  is  more  to  the  point)  determines  the  very  nature  of  science 
through  all  its  history.  This  general  need  of  wise  reaction 
shows  itself  especially  in  two  forms, —  the  necessity  of  manipu- 
lating nature  and  predicting  its  course,  and  the  necessity  of 
communicating  with  one's  fellows.  If  one  is  to  live  success- 
fully one  must  iise  nature  —  or  at  least  looh  out  for  her  —  and 
this  requires  a  knowledge  of  how  things  act  and  of  what  one 
may  properly  expect.  This  means  learning,  the  guidance  of 
one's  actions  through  the  influence  of  past  experience.  And  in- 
telligent learning  means  the  identification  of  situations.  My 
past  experience  does  me  no  good  if  on  the  recurrence  of  a  previ- 
ous situation  I  fail  to  recognize  it  and  to  use  it  as  a  sign  of 
what  I  am  to  look  out  for  next.  Hence  the  necessity  of  more 
or  less  exact  observation  of  conditions  and  the  more  or  less  ex- 
plicit formulation  or  description  of  them  for  future  guidance. 
The  need  for  communication  with  one's  fellows  is  hardly  to  be 
separated,  even  in  the  abstract,  from  this  need  of  prediction 
and  manipulation,  and  it  leads  to  the  same  attempt  at  relatively 
exact  description.  In  the  face  of  an  indifferent  or  hostile  Cos- 
mos I  am  helpless  if  alone,  and  the  cooperation  of  my  fellows 
is  indispensable.  But  if  we  are  to  cooperate  we  must  have 
common  objects  and  must  describe  them  in  terms  that  shall  not 
be  subjective  but  intelligible  to  all  because  common  to  all;  and 
if  our  objects  are  to  be  common  to  all  they  must  be  verifiable 
by  all. 

These  two  fundamental  needs,  prediction  and  communica- 
tion, determine  the  whole  nature  of  science.  And,  first  of  all, 
they  determine  the  scientific  fact.     !N'ot  every  fact  is  neces- 

1  In  the  following  discussion  of  science  I  do  not  mean  to  be  dogmatic ; 
I  am  simply  expounding  the  view  which  seems  to  me  the  proper  one.  There 
are,  of  course,  other  views,  and  one's  choice  between  them  is  in  some  sense 

arbitrary. 


24  THE  KELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

sarily  an  object  of  science.  A  fact  out  of  all  relation  to  other 
facts  would  not  be  a  scientific  fact,  both  because  it  would  be 
unverifiablo  and  because  it  would  be  useless  so  far  as  predic- 
tion, manipulation  and  cociperation  were  concerned.  Hence  sci- 
ence can  be  justified  in  takinc:  cof]^iizanco  of  a  proposed  fact  only 
on  condition,  firstly,  that  it  be  verifiable  bv  other  men  under 
similar  conditions,  and  secondly,  that  it  be  in  some  relation  to 
other  facts  which  science  is  able  to  verify  and  state  in  general 
terms. 

Though  the  chief  end  of  science  is  art  in  the  sense  in  which  I 
have  used  that  word,  and  though  this  end  dominates  the  course 
of  science  and  determines  its  nature,  it  must  not  be  forgotten 
that  the  instinctive  human  desire  to  Icnoiv  is  a  contributory  cause 
and  prompts  much  of  the  progress  of  science  through  all  its  his- 
tory. "  All  men  by  nature  desire  knowledge,"  said  Aristotle, 
and  this  desire  is  not  confined  to  the  more  intellectual  but  is 
found  incipiently  in  all;  it  is,  in  fact,  one  of  the  instincts 
of  the  race,  inherited  from  our  brute  ancestors, —  the  "  instinct 
of  curiosity  "  as  most  psychologists  call  it.  It  exists  alike  in  the 
scientist  and  in  the  savage,  in  the  monkey  and  in  the  dog.  Bio- 
logically it  is  to  be  explained  by  the  practical  utility  of  knowl- 
edge, and  hence  it  is  ultimately  only  another  illustration  of  the 
guidance  and  determination  of  knowledge  by  practice.  Yet  as 
found  in  ourselves  this  instinct  has  a  relatively  independent 
position.  Hence  it  is  certainly  true  that  knowledge  is  valu- 
able for  its  own  sake,  irrespective  of  its  practical  consequences, 
and  valuable  for  the  same  reason  that  gives  value  to  other  things, 
—  namely,  because  we  want  it.  Thus,  from  more  motives  than 
one,  science  seeks  to  build  up  a  systematic  view  of  the  objects 
of  human  experience  that  can  be  expressed  in  communicable 
terms  and  that  can  be  verified  by  any  human  being  under  the 
proper  conditions. 

The  three  methods  used  by  science  to  achieve  this  systematic 
view  of  our  world  are  commonly  said  to  be  Description,  General- 
ization, and  Explanation.  Description  starts  with  the  particular 
but  only  for  the  sake  of  the  general.  It  starts  with  the  particu- 
lar because  it  can  find  only  particulars  to  start  with.  But  as 
Arisotle  pointed  out,  science  aims  always  at  the  general.  The 
reason  for  this  is  plain  enough  from  what  has  been  said  of  the 


THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  EELIGIOIsT  25 

practical  aims  of  science.  The  particular  situation  could  be 
no  guide  to  action  unless  it  were  a  case  of  some  general  kind  of 
situation  which  had  been  observed  before  or  which  might  be 
expected  again.  Hence  the  need  of  general  descriptions.  It  is 
largely  in  this  that  the  difference  between  science  and  history 
consists ; —  history  is  interested  in  the  particular  for  its  own 
sake,  science  cares  for  it  only  as  it  represents  a  general  con- 
dition. 

Especially  important  for  our  practical  life  is  the  knowledge 
how  different  kinds  of  objects  act  on  and  affect  each  other. 
Hence  particular  observations  of  such  actions  or  events  are  ac- 
cumulated and  formulated  into  generalizations  or  laws.  These, 
be  it  noted,  are  only  descriptions  of  the  way  in  which  things  act. 
"  Generalization,''  therefore,  does  not  differ  in  principle  from 
"  description  "  —  it  is,  in  fact,  nothing  but  a  general  descrip- 
tion rather  than  a  real  second  method  of  scientific  procedure.^ 

Causal  explanation  may  seem,  on  a  superficial  view,  to  be  dif- 
ferent in  kind  from  description  and  generalization,  but  in  es- 
sense  it  is  merely  an  application  of  their  results,  and  is,  there- 
fore, ultimately,  only  abbreviated  description.  This  is  plain 
the  moment  one  grasps  the  meaning  of  causation  as  used  in 
science.  Since  the  days  of  David  Hume,  "  causation "  has 
ceased  to  mean  the  action  of  a  mysterious  '^  force  "  or  "  power  " 
or  "  essence,"  and  (in  science  at  any  rate)  it  stands  simply  for 
the  fact  of  regular  or  invariable  connection  between  phenomena. 
The  particular  "  causal  laws  "  are,  therefore,  simply  descriptive 
generalizations,  and  a  "  causal  explanation  "  consists  merely  in 
the  application  of  one  of  these  generalized  descriptions  of  past 
experience  to  the  particular  case  in  hand.  Scientific  explana- 
tion is  thus  nothing  more  than  classification  —  it  consists  in 
saying.  This  is  a  case  of  that.  The  new  and  particular  event 
is  "  explained "  in  the  sense  of  being  better  understood  by 
being  subsumed  under  a  type  or  genus  of  events  previously  ex- 
perienced and  well  recognized.  We  "  understand  "  the  strange 
or  wonderful  by  learning  that  it  is  not  exceptional,  that  it  be- 
longs to  a  group  whose  members  always  act  in  this  same  fash- 

2  It  differs,  of  course,  from  the  description  of  a  single  fact  in  that  its 
object  never  can  be  directly  observed  but  is  a  creature  of  the  scientific 
imagination. 


26  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

ion, —  the  single  wonder  being  explained  by  a  million.  A  na- 
tive of  the  tropics  seeing  for  the  first  time  very  cold  water  turn 
into  ice  is  astonished.  The  scientist  ^'  explains  "  it  to  him  by 
saying  that  very  cold  water  always  turns  into  ice.  It  is,  if  you 
like,  a  mystery  still, —  in  one  sense,  an  infinitely  greater  mys- 
tery. Yet  in  another  sense  the  phenomenon  is  now  better  un- 
derstood, since  it  is  put  in  its  setting,  and  the  particular  shown 
to  be  a  case  of  the  general.  It  may  be  even  further  explained 
by  reference  to  other  substances  which  are  known  to  be  harder 
in  cold  weather  than  in  warm.  The  unknown  has  now  been  re- 
duced to  the  known,  the  new  described  in  terms  of  the  old. 

The  causal  explanation  of  an  event  is,  therefore,  nothing  but 
the  short-hand,  abbreviated  description  of  that  event  Instead 
of  describing  it  in  detail  with  all  its  antecedents  and  conse- 
quences, we  refer  it  to  an  already  well-known  class,  just  as  one 
may  describe  an  individual  animal  by  referring  it  to  its  species. 
The  already  knowTi  class,  moreover, —  the  scientific  law,  of 
which  this  particular  event  is  an  instance  —  is  itself  only  a 
general  description  of  observed  past  experience.  Hence  causal 
explanation  as  well  as  generalization  reduces  in  principle  ex- 
actly to  description,  and  in  this  broad  sense  description  may  be 
called  the  one  method  —  and  the  one  immediate  aim  —  of 
science. 

Causal  explanation,  however,  though  thus  shorn  of  its  mys- 
tery, is  not  a  thing  that  one  can  afford  to  slight ;  nor  does  its  re- 
duction to  description  open  the  door  to  miracle.  No  doubt  it 
can  never  be  proved  that  everything  is  related  to  other  things 
by  definite  laws,  that  there  is  regularity  in  the  way  all  things 
act.  Conceivably  there  may  be  spheres  of  reality  in  which  this 
regularity  ceases ;  in  which  the  effect  is  not  given  with  its 
proved  conditions.  It  can  never  be  proved  that  no  such  spheres 
exist.  Science  can  give  no  reason  why  things  must  happen  reg- 
ularly. In  fact  science  knows  the  word  miLst  no  more  than 
she  knows  the  word  ought.  With  the  is  alone  is  she  concerned. 
She  merely  records  the  facts — and  gives  advice.  A  miracle 
would  be  only  an  irregularity  in  nature,  and  prior  to  ex- 
perience an  irregularity  is  no  more  unlikely  than  a  regularity. 
To  the  unsophisticated  mind,  in  fact,  universal  regularity  would 
seem  by  far  the  more  astonishing.     The  only  miraculous  thing 


THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION  27 

about  miracles  is  that  they  happen  so  seldom.  In  itself,  the 
turning  of  water  into  wine  is  no  more  wonderful,  no  more 
inexplicable  in  the  deeper  sense,  than  the  turning  of  water  into 
blood.  Only  the  one  we  have  never  known  to  happen ;  the  other 
happens  constantly  within  our  very  bodies.  It  is  perfectly  pos- 
sible that  there  are  miracles.  But  if  there  are,  science  is  so  far 
forth  and  in  that  particular  sphere  impossible;  and  wisely 
guided  action  within  that  sphere  is  equally  impossible.  The 
regularity  which  is  undemonstrable  is  the  presupposition  of 
both  science  and  action.  Hence  science  rightly  makes  the  postu- 
late that  there  are  no  miracles, — which  is  no  more  than  saying 
that  science  goes  at  her  task  in  a  courageous  spirit  and  with 
a  sense  of  responsibility.  She  means  to  do  her  best.  She 
means  to  puzzle  over  every  problem  to  the  very  end,  instead  of 
giving  up  weakly  at  the  first  difficulty  and  saying,  This  is 
doubtless  a  miracle  and  hence  insoluble,  so  pray  excuse  me, 
and  give  me  something  easy !  The  practical  aims  of  science 
forbid  its  taking  cognizance  of  anything  which  is  not  ultimately 
explicable  by  the  causal  law,  of  anything  which  will  not  fit  into 
a  general  description  of  human  experience. 

For  be  it  noted  that  science  is  forever  limited  to  the  data 
derivable  from  human  experience.  The  very  necessity  for  veri- 
fication and  communication  demands  this.  Inasmuch  as  noth- 
ing can  be  communicated  to  other  men  or  verified  by  them 
but  that  which  is  presented  to  common  human  experience,  sci- 
ence is  limited  to  describing  the  experience  data  of  human  be- 
ings and  the  relations  between  them.  !N'ow  human  experience 
is  not  only  limited  ;  it  is  fragmentary.  It  is  best  represented,  as 
Professor  Ward  has  suggested,  not  by  an  island  but  by  an  archi- 
pelago. There  are  gaps  within  it,  or,  at  least,  so  it  seems; 
and  these  gaps  are  very  possibly  filled  out  by  events  not  ex- 
perienced by  any  human  being.  Of  course  the  impulse  is  na- 
tural to  fill  in  these  gaps  with  creatures  of  the  imagination  — 
to  construct  hypotheses  as  to  unexperienced  realities  conceived 
of  as  "  really  "  connecting  the  parts  of  our  sundered  experience. 
Such  guesses  may  be  useful  in  aiding  our  poor  minds  to  hold 
together  the  loose  ends  of  our  actual  experience ;  but  it  must  be 
remembered  that  so  far  forth  as  they  are  unverified  they  are  not 
a  genuine  part  of  scientific  knowledge.     They  can  become  such 


28  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

only  by  being  actnally  experienced  bv  true  representatives  of  the 
race.  For  one  can  never  prove  that  an  unexperienced  hypo- 
thetical entity  is  the  07ih/  sohition  of  a  given  problem  —  that  no 
other  guess  is  possible.  Hence  when  a  scientist  proposes  any 
such  unverified  entity  as  a  gap-filler,  he  is  simply  inventing  aids 
to  the  imagination  and  the  memory,  or  else  he  is  writing  meta- 
physics. It  may  be  perfectly  good  metaphysics,  but  it  is  meta- 
physics, not  science.  Here  is  the  true  line  between  the  two 
subjects, —  the  line  dividing  verifiable  human  experience,  on  the 
one  hand,  from  the  hypothetical  reality  back  of  it. 

Metaphysical  hypotheses  may  be  of  various  sorts,  and  his- 
torically are  divisible  into  two  chief  classes,  the  materialistic 
and  the  spiritualistic.  While  neither  of  these  hypotheses  belongs 
to  science,  both  are  consistent  with  scientific  aims  and  methods  so 
long  as  the  hypothetical,  ultra-empirical  reality  is  not  conceived 
as  interfering  with  our  experienced  world  in  ways  that  are  neces- 
sarily incalculable  by  science.  Judged  by  this  test,  the  mater- 
ialistic hypotheses  have  usually  had  the  advantage  over  the  spir- 
itualistic. Unthinkable  and  self-contradictory  as  they  often 
have  been,  they  are  framed  expressly  for  the  satisfaction  of 
scientific  aims  and  hence  fit  into  the  scientific  scheme  better 
than  the  spiritualistic  hypotheses  usually  do,  made  as  they 
usually  have  been  for  very  different  purposes.  Probably  the 
one  or  the  other  of  these  hypotheses  is  true.  If  so  then  the 
ultimate  explanation  of  the  phenomenal  world  —  the  explana- 
tion of  our  experience  as  a  whole  —  would  be  found  in  this 
ultimate  reality.  But  this  ultimate  kind  of  explanation  is  a 
matter  for  philosophy,  not  for  science.  Her  task  is  much  more 
modest  than  this.  Her  only  sphere  is  human  experience  and 
her  only  aim  description. 

The  fact  that  the  practical  aim  of  science  determines  its  na- 
ture has  often  been  taken  in  such  rigid  fashion  as  to  make  na- 
tural science  almost  impossible.  Obviously  prediction  that  shall 
be  both  absolutely  exact  and  absolutely  certain  is  out  of  the 
question  until  quality  shall  have  been  reduced  to  quantity  and 
all  the  relations  between  phenomena  shall  be  expressed  in 
mathematical  terms, —  until,  in  short,  induction  shall  have  given 
place  to  deduction.  This  was  what  Kant  had  in  mind  when  he 
despaired  of  psychology  because  its  object  could  not  be  expressed 


THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  KELIGION  29 

mathematically,  and  what  Locke  meant  when  he  despaired  of 
physics  because,  in  our  ignorance  of  the  "  real  essence  "  of  any 
given  "  substance  "  we  could  not  deduce  from  it  its  various 
qualities.  For  if  the  word  science  be  taken  in  this  strict  sense, 
physics  no  less  than  psychology  would  have  to  forego  the  hon- 
ored title ;  there  would  be  no  "  natural  sciences  "  and  the  only 
science  left  us  would  be  mathematics.  Abstract  mechanics  and 
abstract  dynamics  would  indeed  still  be  sciences,  but  only  be- 
cause they  would  be  branches  of  mathematics,  and  the  moment 
they  were  applied  to  the  facts  of  actual  experience  they  would 
cease  to  be  scientific.  Hence  it  seems  best  to  take  the  word 
science  in  a  larger  and,  I  confess,  a  looser  way,  so  as  to  cover 
any  systematic  description  of  the  verifiable  facts  of  human  ex- 
perience. This  does  not  mean  that  the  aim  of  prediction  is 
given  up,  but  only  the  pretense  of  perfectly  exact  and  abso- 
lutely definite  prediction.  These  will  still  be  the  ideal  and  the 
"  limit "  of  all  science,  and  different  sciences  will  differ  in  the 
degree  to  which  they  approximate  to  these  ideals. 

If  this  be  admitted,  then  psychology  is  a  genuine,  though  not 
a  very  exact  science.  Its  aim  will  be  to  describe  mental  'pro- 
cesses. And  I  use  the  word  describe  here  in  the  same  broad 
sense  as  before.  Psychology  will  describe  in  the  sense  of  put- 
ting its  observations  into  communicable  terms,  generalizing 
them  into  empirical  laws,  and  explaining  the  particular  by  the 
general.  In  explanation  it  will  make  use  of  any  known  scien- 
tific generalizations  that  it  needs.  Some  of  these  will  be  its 
own  records  of  psychical  events,  others  will  be  furnished  it  by 
other  sciences.  Particularly  will  physiology  be  of  service  here. 
Within  the  purely  psychical  field  there  are  gaps  which  may 
be  filled  out  by  known  physiological  events.  And,  moreover, 
where  no  such  known  physiological  events  have  been  found  it  is 
often  useful,  for  the  purpose  of  helping  out  our  "  understand- 
ing "  (i.  e.  our  imagination)  of  the  matter,  to  devise  or  picture 
a  series  of  physiological  events  made  to  order  to  fill  the  gap.^ 

3  Cf .  Prof.  Titchener :  "  If  we  attempted  to  work  out  a  merely  descrip- 
tive psychology  we  should  find  that  there  was  no  hope  for  a  true  science 
of  mind.  .  .  .  There  would  be  no  unity  or  coherence  in  it.  .  .  .  In  order 
to  make  psychology  scientific  we  must  not  only  describe,  we  must  also 
explain  mind.  ...  If  we  refuse  to  explain  mind  by  body,  we  must  accept 
one   or   the  other   of   two   equally   unsatisfactory   alternatives:    we   must 


30  THE  KKLIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

Sometimes  a  series  of  "  unconscious  mental  phenomena  "  are 
invented  for  the  same  purpose.  In  a  sense  it  is  almost  indiffer- 
ent whether  such  hypothetical  events  are  really  there  or  not,  so 
long  as  the  concept  of  them  is  useful  in  connecting  the  actually 
experienced  series,  and  thus  making  regularity  and  prediction 
at  least  theoretically  possible. 

For  prediction  is  to  a  very  considerable  extent  possible  even 
in  psychology.  To  be  sure  it  cannot  predict  with  absolute  cer- 
tainty nor  with  mathematical  exactness,  but  it  often  can  tell  us 
what  in  a  given  situation  we  may  reasonably  expect,  and  thus 
enable  us  to  utilize  past  experience  for  future  action.  Beyond 
this  psychology  cannot  go,  and  beyond  this  it  need  not  go  in 
order  to  be  a  science.  If,  forgetting  its  limited  powers,  it  stakes 
its  reputation  on  exact  and  unfailing  prediction,  or  on  its 
ability  to  ^'  explain  "  in  any  other  and  deeper  sense  than  that 
outlined  above,  it  may  well  be  called  "  hopeless."  *     But  its 

either  rest  content  with  simple  description  of  mental  experience,  or  must 
invent  an  unconscious  mind  to  give  coherence  and  continuity  to  conscious- 
ness. Both  courses  have  been  tried.  But  if  we  take  the  first  we  never 
arrive  at  a  science  of  psychology;  and  if  we  take  the  second  we  volun- 
tarily leave  the  sphere  of  fact  for  the  sphere  of  fiction."  ("A  Text  book 
of  Psychology,"  New  York,  Macmillan:  1910,  pp.  38-40.) 

Dr.  Morton  Prince  comments  upon  this  passage  as  follows:  "If  he 
[Prof.  Titchcner]  means  that  we  should  explain  mind  by  specific  parallel 
nervous  processes,  we  certainly  are  entering  the  *  sphere  of  fiction,'  indeed 
of  romance,  for  we  cannot  correlate  the  simplest  conscious  process  with 
any  specific  physiologic  process  nor  have  we  even  a  glimpse  of  the  data 
which  will  allow  us  to  approach  the  problem.  If  on  the  other  hand  he 
means  a  physiologic  process  as  an  abstraction  or  concept,  we  are  still 
entering,  but  justifiably,  the  sphere  of  fiction,  though  I  would  rather 
phrase  it,  of  imagination,  as  much  so  as  when  we  '  invent  an  unconscious 
mind.'  Unconscious  mental  processes  belong  no  more  to  the  sphere  of 
fiction  than  to  unconscious  physiologic  processes.  Both  are  simply  con- 
cepts which  we  postulate  to  explain  the  facts.  We  simply  say  the  phe- 
nomena occur  as  if  the  concepts  were  true.  ...  So  far  as  such  concepts 
satisfactorily  explain  the  phenomena  and  allow  us  to  predict  events  we 
may  treat  them  as  true  and  as  the  cause  of  phenomena.  To  my  way  of 
thinking  it  does  not  make  the  slightest  diirerence,  so  far  as  the  purposes  of 
explanation  are  concerned,  whether  we  treat  unconscious  processes  as 
physiologic  or  as  mental  —  both  are  concepts  and  in  this  sense  only  belong 
to  the  'sphere  of  fiction.'"  ("The  New  Psychology'  and  Therapeutics," 
Jour,  of  the  Am.  Medical  Assn.,  March  30,  1012.) 

*Cf.  Mobius,  "Die  Hoffnungslosigkeit  aller  Psychologie,"  (Halle,  Mar- 
hold:  1007).  Psychology  is  "hopeless"  for  Mobius  because  he  identifies 
natural  science  with  physical  science  and  because  psychology  cannot  answer 
the  most  important  questions  without  calling  in  the  aid  of  metaphysics. 


THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  EELIGION  31 

humbler  task  is  by  no  means  hopeless,  and  it  is  one  well  worth 
while,  and  large  enough  to  occupy  all  who  are  interested  in  it 
to  the  end  of  time.  Hence  it  seems  to  me  a  mistake  to  call 
psychology,  as  Prof.  Miinsterberg  does,^  only  a  stop-gap  for  phy- 
siology, or  to  limit  its  permanent  function,  as  Prof.  Taylor 
does,^  to  ''  providing  Ethics  and  History  with  an  appropriate 
terminology."  To  describe  the  workings  of  the  human  mind 
is  a  perfectly  definite  and  independent  task  and  one  in  itself 
well  worth  while. 

To  describe  the  workings  of  the  human  mind  so  far  as  these 
are  influenced  by  its  attitude  toward  the  Determiner  of  Des- 
tiny, is  the  task  of  the  psychology  of  religion.  As  its  name  im- 
plies, it  means  to  be  psychology  —  that  is,  it  means  to  be  a 
science.  Human  experience  is  the  subject  of  its  investiga- 
tion. It  aims  at  nothing  metaphysical  or  transcendental. ''^  The 
reader,  of  course,  will  decide  for  himself  the  question  whether 
its  aim  should  be  thus  humble ;  but  to  me  at  least  it  seems  plain 
enough  that  transcendental  analysis  belongs  rather  to  the  philos- 
ophy than  to  the  psychology  of  religion.  The  true  task  of  the 
latter  is,  in  my  opinion,  simply  to  study  the  religious  conscious- 
ness just  as  any  other  science  studies  its  object.  N^or  is  there 
any  good  reason  for  setting  up  any  bounds  within  the  religious 
consciousness  which  the  psychologist  shall  not  be  allowed  to  pass 
if  he  can.     Certainly  it  is  very  sacred  ground  that  the  psychol- 

This,  of  course,  is  a  possible  position,  but  the  special  meaning  it  gives  to 
"  hopeless  "  should  be  carefully  noted.  Whether  or  not  psychology  turns 
out  to  be  hopeless  will  depend  on  the  kind  of  hope  you  cherished  for  it  in 
the  beginning. 

5  "  Grundziige  der  Psychologic"   (Leipzig,  Barth:    1900)   pp.  415^35. 

6  "Elements  of  Metaphysics"   (London,  Methuen:   1003)   p.  305. 

■^  This,  at  least,  is  the  opinion  of  nearly  all  investigators  in  this  country, 
and  it  is  from  this  point  of  view  that  the  present  book  will  proceed.  It 
is  only  fair  to  say  that  this  view  is  not  absolutely  universal.  In  Germany 
in  particular  a  few  prominent  writers,  approaching  the  subject  from  the 
theological  eide,  insist  that  the  psychology  of  religion  must  seek  and 
find  in  the  religious  experience  a  metaphysical  someichat  — "  ein  meta- 
physisches  Etwas."  And  Wobbermin  (the  translator  of  James's  "Varie- 
ties") asserts  that  the  scientific  method  of  American  investigators  can. 
produce  no  important  results  and  that  we  should  rather  make  use  of 
"  transcendental  analysis."  Cf.  Dr.  Roland  Schutz  in  the  Zeitschrift  fiir 
Religionspsychologie,  Vol.  V,  pp.  246-247.  See  also  Bauke's  exposition  and 
criticism  of  VVobbermin's  position  in  the  Zeitschrift  for  June,  1911  (Vol. 
V),  pp.  97-104. 


32  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

ogist  is  licre  studying,  but,  for  that  very  reason,  it  is  all  the 
more  worthy  of  study.  Hence  the  psychologist  will  be  justified 
in  making  use  of  any  material  that  seems  to  him  promising. 
He  will  j)rc)l)c  the  most  sacred  depths  of  the  private  experience 
of  individuals  as  tlioroughly  as  he  can;  he  will  ransack  the  pub- 
lic records  of  social  religious  practices  and  common  religious 
ideas ;  and  the  results  of  these  various  investigations  he  will 
describe,  compare,  and  generalize  as  completely  as  is  possible. 

When  stated  in  this  abstract  fashion,  the  task  of  the  psychol- 
ogist may  seem  relatively  simple;  but  if  one  seriously  under- 
takes it,  he  will  be  met  at  the  outset  with  certain  difficulties  pe- 
culiar to  this  field.  He  must,  namely,  face  the  questions  how 
he  is  to  get  at  the  material  for  his  study,  and  how  much  it  will 
be  worth  when  he  has  got  it.  Three  methods  for  obtaining  ma- 
terial naturally  present  themselves,  and  have  in  fact  been  fol- 
lowed by  leading  psychologists.  The  first  is  a  study  of  indi- 
vidual experiences  as  portrayed  in  autobiographies,  letters,  and 
other  spontaneous  expressions  of  religious  persons.  The  second 
method  is  the  collection  of  answers  to  definite  questions  from  a 
number  of  persons  through  the  use  of  a  questionnaire.  The 
third  method  investigates  the  relatively  objective  expressions  of 
social  religion  furnished  by  history,  anthropology,  and  the  sa- 
cred literature  of  various  peoples. 

The  first  two  of  these  methods  have  the  advantage  of  studying 
religious  experience  at  its  source,  that  is,  in  the  individual 
soul.  They  are  open  to  the  obvious  danger,  on  the  other  hand, 
of  emphasizing  a  type  of  character  that  is  ready  to  expose  to 
view  its  most  sacred  experiences.  The  questionnaire  method 
is  particularly  open  to  suspicion,  both  because  of  this  unfortun- 
ate selective  tendency,  and  also  because  it  almost  inevitably  puts 
the  respondent  into  a  slightly  unnatural  attitude  by  the  very 
fact  of  setting  him  down  to  answer  deliberately  some  one's  ques- 
tions concerning  his  religious  life.  The  respondent  is  often 
quite  incapable  of  giving  an  exact  or  even  significant  psycholog- 
ical description ;  and  if  he  is  able  to  do  so  he  is  usually  unwill- 
ing to  take  the  requisite  time  and  trouble,  and  so  writes  a  short 
answer  too  superficial  to  have  any  real  value.  Moreover  if  the 
results  of  such  answers  are  tabulated  and  an  effort  made  to  get 
statistics  and  percentages  from  them,  the  result  is  quite  likely 


THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  KELIGION  33 

to  be  misleading;  because  by  a  process  of  natural  selection  the 
great  majority  of  the  answers  will  be  from  those  who  have  some- 
thing startling  to  relate  and  rather  enjoy  relating  it.^  To  avoid 
difficulties  like  these,  some  writers  turn  to  the  more  objective 
and  impersonal  records  of  social  religion,  such  as  rites,  cere- 
monies, and  theological  concepts  or  primitive  superstitions. 
And  here  indeed  we  get  all  the  advantages  of  objectivity, —  with 
all  its  dangers.  For,  after  all,  it  is  psychology,  not  sociology 
nor  theology  nor  history  that  we  are  studying,  and  psychology 
is  the  science  of  subjective  states  and  processes  which  in  the  last 
resort  are  to  be  found  only  in  the  individual.  It  i^  jthe  real 
"  inwardness  "  of  religion  that  we  want  to  know  about ;  and  to 
throw  aside  the  subjective  altogether  because  of  its  attendant 
dangers  will  be  like  pouring  out  the  baby  with  the  bath.^ 

And,  after  all,  the  difficulties  of  the  first  two  methods  are  not 
so  great  but  that  they  may,  to  a  considerable  extent,  be  over- 
come. Doubtless  it  is  true  that  many  who  regard  their  re- 
ligious experiences  as  very  sacred  will  refuse  to  describe  them 
to  the  psychologist  for  coldly  scientific  purposes.  But  these 
same  people  will  often  relate  them  or  write  them  out  in  detail 
for  the  edification  of  the  faithful ;  and  there  is  no  law  against 

8  For  an  admirable  criticism  of  the  questionnaire  method  as  ordinarily 
used  see  Stahlin,  "  Die  Verwendung  von  Fragebogen  in  der  Religionspsy- 
chologie,"  Zeitschrift  fur  Religionspsychologie,  V,  394-408  (March,  1912). 
Cf.  also  my  "  Psychology  of  Religious  Belief,"  pp.  232-234. 

9  Prof.  Billia  goes  so  far  in  criticism  of  the  historical  method  as  to  insist 
that  it  has  no  value.  ( See  his  paper  "  On  the  Problem  and  Method  of 
the  Psychology  of  Religion"  in  the  Monist,  XX,  pp.  135-139.)  It  "gives 
the  illusion  of  describing  and  cognizing  a  mental  fact  while  remaining  out- 
side of  the  fact  itself."  The  outer  expression,  which  the  historian  and 
anthropologist  see,  gives,  in  Billia's  opinion,  very  little  inkling  as  to  the 
inner  fact  which  alone  should  interest  the  psychologist.  This  question 
goes  hand-in-hand  with  another  that  is  of  interest  in  this  connection, — 
a  question  that  was  raised  at  the  1909  International  Congress  of  Psychol- 
ogy —  namely  whether  the  non-religious  psychologist  can  effectively  study 
religion.  Prof.  Billia  answered  this  in  the  negative,  while  the  majority 
gave  an  affirmative  answer.  It  is  hard  to  see  why  the  non-religious 
psychologist,  if  there  be  such  a  person,  cannot  throw  some  light  on  the 
religious  consciousness  by  a  careful  collection  and  comparison  of  the  ways 
in  which  it  expresses  itself;  just  as  a  blind  man  may  be  learned  in  the 
laws  of  colors,  and  just  as  a  psychologist  may  study  the  physical  processes 
of  the  dancing  mouse  without  being  one.  None  the  less,  he  would  be  at  a 
distinct  disadvantage  and  could  hardly  expound  the  real  inwardness  of  the 
experience  as  could  a  psychologist  who  could  interpret  his  data  by  his  own 
introspection. 


34  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSKESS 

the  psychologist  studying  these  acounts.  Nor  is  it  true  that 
those  who  thus  describe  their  inner  lives  are  necessarily  super- 
ficial. The  very  names  Aucnistine,  Teresa,  Fox,  Tyrrell,  are 
enough  to  disprove  any  sucli  idea.  Even  the  questionnaire, 
moreover,  if  carefully  used,  may  bring  considerable  very  relia- 
ble information.  Thus  the  "  Jieligions-pfiijrhologisrhe  Arheits- 
gemeinschaft J'  recently  organized  in  Germany,  though  very 
skeptical  of  the  value  of  the  questionnaire  as  ordinarily  em- 
ployed, is  making  a  limited  and  trustworthy  use  of  it  by  direct- 
ing its  questions  only  toward  the  externals  of  religion  rather 
than  toward  inner  experiences,  and  by  insisting  that  the  re- 
spondent shall  never  see  the  questionnaire  nor  be  asked  for 
categorical  answers,  but  that  all  information  from  him  shall  be 
dra\Mi  out  bv  the  collector  throuc^h  informal  conversation.^^ 
These  two  safeguards  certainly  avoid  practically  all  of  the  diffi- 
culties which  tend  to  make  the  questionnaire  method  untrust- 
worthy ;  and,  personally,  I  am  not  convinced  that  the  method  is 
altogether  useless  even  without  such  limitations.  The  relia- 
bility of  the  method  will  depend  in  each  case  upon  the  particular 
subject  investigated  and  upon  the  care  of  the  editor  in  inter- 
preting the  results.  The  collector  should  certainly  talk  with 
his  respondents  whenever  possible,  and  should  always  interpret 
their  answers  in  the  light  of  each  other  and  throw  out  whatever 
seems  in  any  way  suspicious ;  and  if  all  this  is  done  the  ma- 
terial collected  can  hardly  be  considered  altogether  worthless.^^ 
Finally,  if  the  biographical  and  questionnaire  methods  be  sup- 
plemented by  the  more  objective  study  based  on  public  and 
social  religious  expressions,  beliefs,  rituals,  and  the  like,  the 
psychologist  will  have  at  his  disposal  a  very  respectable  body  of 
facts  as  the  raw  material  for  his  w^ork.^^ 

10  See  the  article  by  Stahlin  cited  above,  esp.  pp.  403-407;  and  also  the 
Fame  author's  account  of  the  founding  of  the  Religionspaychologische  Ar- 
beitsgemeinschaft,  in  the  Zeitschrift  fur  Religspsy,  IV  p.  222. 

11  A  further  argument  for  its  use  is  the  fact  that  the  biographical  method 
is  in  great  need  of  supplementation.  Religious  material  from  biographies 
emanates  almost  invariably  from  somewhat  extraordinary  religious  souls, 
and  if  one's  description  of  the  religious  consciousness  is  based  upon  this 
source  alone,  the  picture  is  likely  to  be  over-colored.  This,  for  example,  is 
the  one  fundamental  weakness  in  James's  great  book. 

12  These  different  sources  vary  in  their  value  according  to  the  problem  to 
which  they  are  applied;  and  in  this  book  I  shall  attempt  to  utilize  them 
accordingly. 


THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  KELIGION  35 

Having  collected  his  facts,  the  psychologist  will  proceed  as 
other  scientists  proceed  with  their  data.  That  is  to  say,  he 
will  group  his  facts  and  note  general  relations  between  them, 
thus  seeking  a  systematic  and  general  description  of  the  various 
facts  in  the  religious  consciousness.  Whenever  possible,  he  will 
"  explain  "  these  facts  by  subsuming  them  under  the  laws  of 
general  psychology.  That  is  to  say,  he  will  proceed  on  the  as- 
sumption that,  for  the  purposes  of  science,  religious  facts  are 
not  different  in  kind  from  other  psychic  facts.  Thus  he  will 
seek  to  build  up  a  scientific  view  of  the  religious  life,  interpret- 
ing and  explaining  it  by  itself  and  by  the  known  facts  and 
laws  of  the  human  mind,  ^'expounding  nature  by  nature,'^  as 
Hoffding  says,  "  just  as  a  passage  in  a  book  is  expounded  in 
such  a  manner  as  to  connect  it  with  other  passages  in  the  same 
book."  13 

The  reader  may  perhaps  question  whether  such  a  procedure 
is  justifiable.  He  may  insist  that  it  builds  upon  an  assumption 
that  is  at  least  uncertain  and  seems  in  some  respects  very  dubi- 
ous. And  he  may  assert  that  in  the  religious  consciousness  at 
its  best  we  have  something  that  is  very  difficult  to  explain  by  the 
laws  of  general  psychology.  Certainly  no  one  will  appreciate 
the  force  of  this  last  statement  more  fully  than  the  psychol- 
ogist. When  one  compares  the  deeply  religious  and  spiritual 
person  with  the  best  and  bravest  of  those  who  are  not  religious, 
one  sees,  it  must  be  confessed,  that  the  former  possesses  some- 
thing which  the  others  lack.  It  is  not  that  he  is  any  better 
morally  than  his  non-religious  brother,  nor  any  more  apprecia- 
tive of  beauty  and  love  nor  any  braver.  It  is,  rather,  that  he 
has  a  confidence  in  the  universe  and  an  inner  joy  which  the 
other  does  not  know.  He  is,  perhaps,  no  more  at  home  in  this 
world  than  the  other  (perhaps  he  is  not  so  much  at  home  here), 
but  he  seems  more  at  home  in  the  universe  as  a  whole.  He 
feels  himself  in  touch,  and  he  acts  as  if  he  were  in  touch,  with  a 
larger  environment.  He  either  has  a  more  cosmic  sense  or  his 
attitude  toward  the  cosmos  is  one  of  larger  hope  and  greater 
confidence.  Besides  this,  or  as  a  result  of  this,  he  has  an  inner 
source  of  joy  and  strength  which  does  not  seem  dependent  on 
outer  circumstance,  and  which  in  fact  seems  greatest  at  times 

13  "The  Philosophy  of  Religion."     (London,  Macmillan:   1906)  p.  20. 


36  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

when  outer  sources  of  stren^h  and  promise  fail.  He  is,  there- 
fore, able  to  shed  a  kind  of  peace  around  him  which  no  argu- 
ment and  no  mere  animal  spirits  and  no  mere  courage  can 
produce.  Whence  comes  this  difference?  On  what  are  these 
values,  which  we  all  recognize,  founded  ?  Evidently,  the  im- 
mediate answer  can  be  put  in  psychological  terms.  The  peace 
and  power  in  question  follow,  by  regular  psychological  laws, 
from  a  certain  form  and  intensity  of  belief  and  a  certain  emo- 
tional experience.  Whence  comes  this  belief  and  this  experi- 
ence? Doubtless  it  will  be  much  more  difficult  to  trace  these 
back  to  some  precedent  situation,  for  the  conditions  here  en- 
volved, —  social,  psychical,  physiological  —  become  now  very 
complex.  Yet  conceivably  this  might  be  done.  But  the  reader 
may  continue  his  questioning  and  ask:  Is  the  belief  here  in- 
volved illusory,  and  is  the  experience  deceptive  ?  Can  a  com- 
plete and  ultimate  explanation  of  them  be  given  in  psychologi- 
cal terms,  and  if  so  would  not  such  an  explanation  if  known 
destroy  its  object  ? 

Certainly  the  psychologist  who  started  out  on  the  assumption 
that  every  religious  phenomenon  is  to  be  completely  and  ulti- 
mately explained  by  psychological  laws,  that  we  have  in  our 
hands  —  or  at  least  can  some  day  get  into  our  hands  —  all  the 
data  needed  for  such  an  ultimate  explanation,  would  be  like  a 
physicist  who  failed  to  recognize  that  there  might  be  gaps 
within  his  field  —  that  there  might  be  links  in  the  chain  of 
causes  which,  from  the  nature  of  the  case,  could  never  be  di- 
rectly experienced  by  human  beings.  It  is  the  recognition  of 
such  gaps  that  has  led  the  physicist  to  the  invention  of  the  many 
atoms  and  the  many  ethers.  These,  as  I  have  said,  are  not 
scientific  objects;  they  are  devices  to  enable  him  more  easily  to 
put  together  the  parts  of  his  fragmentary  experience.  The  two 
ends  of  the  cable  he  sees;  he  grasps  them  at  the  points  where 
they  plunge  beneath  the  surface.  His  imagination  depicts 
what  the  submerged  links  may  be  like.  This  is  all  mythology 
and  metaphysics  except  so  far  as  it  enables  him  to  think  to- 
gether the  two  parts  which  he  actually  holds  and  to  explain  them 
in  terms  of  each  other. 

Are  there  such  gaps  in  the  field  of  religious  psychology? 
This  is  a  question  of  fact.     There  are  for  us  as  many  gaps  as 


THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  EELIGIO:^^  37 

we  find.  There  is  for  us  a  gap  wherever  we  cannot  see  a  con- 
nection. These  gaps  we  must  seek  to  fill  as  best  we  can ; —  if 
possible  by  discovering  actual  experience,  verifiable  objects,  that 
make  the  desired  connections;^^  where  this  is  not  possible,  we 
must  recognize  the  fact,  note  how  the  several  parts  vary  in  rela- 
tion to  each  other,  and  write  down  our  resulting  generalizations. 
General  psychology,  as  has  been  pointed  out  above,  has  numer- 
ous gaps  of  this  kind,  and  usually  seeks  to  fill  them  by  some 
more  or  less  ingenious  hypotheses  of  brain  physiology.  The 
theologian  and  the  religious  man  frequently  insist  that  similar 
gaps  exist  among  the  phenomena  of  the  religious  consciousness 
—  as  seen,  for  example,  in  conversion,  the  answer  to  prayer,  the 
mystical  experience.  But  just  as  the  general  psychologist  who 
knows  his  business  will  remember  that  his  physiological  hy- 
potheses, no  matter  how  useful,  cannot  be  genuine  objects  of 
his  science  until  empirically  verified,  so  the  psychologist  of  re- 
ligion must  remember  that  explanation  through  the  Superna- 
tural, though  quite  possibly  true,  is  not  psychology,  and  that  he 
must  confine  himself  to  the  verifiable  facts  of  human  experience. 
The  question  of  the  Supernatural  so  frequently  confronts  one 
in  the  study  of  the  psychology  of  religion  that  a  word  more 
should  be  added  concerning  it  here.  In  brief,  there  are  two 
chief  views  of  it  and  of  its  relation  to  the  natural,  one  of  which 
may  be  called  the  phenomenal  view,  the  other  the  noumenal. 
According  to  the  first,  the  Supernatural,  or  the  Will  of  God,  is 
to  be  regarded  as  a  cause  among  other  causes,  and  it  is  usually 
depicted  as  also  acting  in  ways  that  are  to  the  human  mind 
forever  incalculable.  Its  ways  are  not  regarded  as  altogether 
incalculable,  to  be  sure,  but  frequently  as  dependent  upon  cer- 
tain well-known  conditions  of  a  moral  nature.  With  all  this, 
however,  there  still  remains  a  considerable  residuum  of  uncer- 
tainty and  inexplicability  about  its  actions,  and  it  is  depicted 
as  interfering  at  unexpected  times  with  the  ordinary  and  regular 
course  of  events.  Such  a  statement  makes  the  view  sound  crude, 
possibly,  but  however  that  may  be,  it  is  the  position  actually 
held  by  very  many  religious  people. ^^     And  a  good  deal  may  be 

1*  A  good  example  of  this  is  seen  in  the  explorations  of  the  subconscious 
by  Freud,  Prince,  and  others,  by  which  facts  are  broufjht  to  light  which 
connect  and  hence  "  explain  "  much  that  before  was  unconnected. 

15  The  frank  acceptance  of  the  Supernatural   as  a   phenomenon  by  the 


38  THE  KKLIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

said  for  it.  It  has  a  prafpnatic  value  which  the  larger,  "  nou- 
menal,"  view  retains  only  with  some  (litticulty ;  for  according  to 
this  "  phenomenal  "  view  it  is  plain  that  the  Supernatural,  in 
pragmatic  terms,  "  )7uiJces  a  difference."  The  religious  soul 
usually  wants  a  CkhI  who  will  do  something  for  him.  And  a 
Supernatural  which  made  no  diflferenee  to  our  experience  might 
be  called  *"'  divine  "  or  materialistic  with  indifference. 

I  do  not  see  that  this  view  of  the  Supernatural  can  be  proved 
false.  There  are  too  many  seeming  gaps  in  our  experience, 
too  much  that  is  unexpected  and  unaccountable  in  our  lives, 
for  us  to  be  able  to  demonstrate  in  them  an  unbroken  causal 
chain.  As  a  fact,  to  be  sure,  this  view  of  the  Supernatural  so 
far  as  it  concerns  the  outer  world  has  been  largely  given  up ; — 
and,  it  must  be  added,  with  no  great  harm  to  the  cause  of 
religion. ^•^  In  the  inner  world,  however,  it  is  still  defended, 
and  the  theologian  and  philosopher  are  perfectly  free  to  accept 
and  vindicate  it.  But  the  psychologist  is  not  free  to  do  so.  If 
the  Supernatural  breaks  in  upon  the  natural,  psychology  as  a 
science  is  so  far  forth  impossible.  The  theological  explanation 
is  no  explanation  for  the  psychologist,  because  it  is  not  capable 
of  being  confirmed  by  experienced^     And  for  psychology,  or 

popular  view  is  not  always  recognized  by  psychologists  in  arguing  this 
point  —  e.«?.  Irving  King,  "The  Development  of  Religion,"  p.  9. 

18  One  still  meets  with  it  occasionally,  even  in  very  intelligent  circles, — 
witness,  for  example,  the  not  uncommon  explanation  of  the  iSicilian  earth- 
quake in  1000  as  due  to  God's  anger  over  the  wickedness  of  the  Sicilians. 

i'^  From  the  point  of  view  maintained  in  this  chapter  it  will  plainly  be 
impossible  to  consider  theology  a  science.  It  cannot  be  called  a  science 
(in  our  use  of  the  term)  for  the  same  reason  that  the  theory  of  the  ulti- 
mate nature  of  matter  cannot  be  called  a  science.  Professor  Macintosh 
in  a  most  original  and  suggestive  book  ("Theology  as  an  Empirical  Sci- 
ence"—  New  York,  Macmillan :  1010)  maintains  that  theology  has  the 
same  right  to  the  name  science  as  physics  or  chemistry ;  that  God  may 
be  directly  perceived;  and  that  if  we  denj'  this  second  proposition  on  the 
ground  that  we  can  perceive  only  our  own  mental  states,  we  thereby 
destroy  not  only  theology  but  all  objective  science,  and  have  nothing  left 
but  a  false  psychologism.  With  the  latter  part  of  this  argument  I  am 
in  fullest  sympathy;  but  I  still  cannot  feel  that  "God"  is  verifiable  in 
the  same  sense  in  which  the  objects  of  physics  and  chemistry  may  be 
verified,  and  hence  cannot  see  my  way  to  considering  theology  a  science. 
Even  on  the  h\T)othesis  that  God  is  as  directly  experienced  by  a  certain 
gifted  few  as  other  persons  are,  theology  would  still  be  in  another  cate- 
gory from  science.  Nor  do  I  think  that  such  a  position  as  mine  leads  one 
to   psychologism,   for  one  may  and   should  distinguish   between   th«,  data 


THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION"  39 

any  science,  to  admit  that  there  are  any  facts  incapable  of  be- 
ing explained,  incapable  of  being  regularly  connected  with  the 
other  facts  of  experience,  would  be  a  surrender  of  its  funda- 
mental presuppositions.  For  its  OAvn  protection  science  must 
act  as  if  this  view  of  the  Supernatural  and  its  interruptions  of 
the  natural  were  false.  It  cannot  take  cognizance  of  interrup- 
tions. 

The  second  view  of  the  Supernatural  referred  to  above  re- 
gards it  as  the  noumenal  side,  the  inner  being,  of  all  Reality, — 
the  "^  Natura  Naturans  "  of  Spinoza.  It  is  immanent  within 
the  phenomenal  world  and  is  expressed  by  it  as  really,  though 
probably  not  so  completely,  as  by  any  transcendent  world.  It 
is  a  /Supernatural  not  in  that  it  interferes  with  nature  but  in 
that  it  includes  and  transcends  nature.  The  upholders  of  this 
view  usually  deny  miracle,  and  at  any  rate,  no  miracle  is  neces- 
sary to  it.  The  regularity  of  the  causal  law  is  regarded  as 
being  merely  ihe  way  God  acts.  It  sees  God  in  order  rather 
than  in  disorder,  in  the  dependable  working  of  law  rather  than 
in  incalculable  interferences  with  law.  Thus  there  is  no  pos- 
sible quarrel  between  it  and  science.  An  extension  of  this  view 
might  suggest  that  some  of  the  gaps  in  the  religious  experience 
may  possibly  be  filled  by  realities  and  forces  in  another  spiritual 
world  which  act  accoijding  to  regular  laws,  so  that  the  results  of 
their  action  are  as  certain  and  (conceivably)  as  predictable  as 
the  performances  of  the  atoms.  In  this  way  the  pragmatic 
value  of  the  phenomenal  view  would  be  retained,  for  the  Super- 
natural would  thus  "  make  a  difference."  Such  an  hypothesis 
would,  of  course,  be  metaphysical  in  the  extreme,  but  it  would 
be  perfectly  consistent  with  a  scientific  view  of  the  religious 
consciousness. 

Three  different  attitudes  are  possible  toward  the  breaks  that 
we  find  in  experience,  both  of  the  outer  and  of  the  inner  world : 
(1)   We  may  make  the  theological  hypothesis  of  supernatural 

given  us  in  perception  together  with  their  objective  interrehitions,  and  the 
subjective  mechanism  (sensational,  ideational,  etc.)  by  means  of  which  we 
perceive.  Both  of  these  groups  are  verifiable  in  human  experience  (in  a 
direct  way  that  neither  God  nor  the  ultimate  nature  of  matter  are),  yet  the 
former  belongs  in  a  peculiar  sense  to  the  physical  scientist,  the  other  to 
the  psychologist.  For  further  exposition  of  the  epistemological  view  here 
involved,  see  "  Essays  in  Critical  Realism." 


40  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

interference.  (2)  We  may  invent  some  other  hypothetical  in- 
termediary to  help  ns  tliink  over  the  hroak  —  e.  p.  atoms,  ether, 
brain  action,  tlio  "  Unconscious."  (3)  We  may  frankly  recog- 
nize the  fact  that  any  such  stop-p;aps  are  purely  hypothetical 
and  beyond  our  experience,  and  content  ourselves  with  simply 
describi  11  nr  the  phenomena  as  we  find  them,  leaving  the  guess- 
work, for  the  time  beinp:,  to  others. 

This  third  attitude,  as  it  seems  to  me,  is  the  proper  one  for 
the  psychology  of  religion.     It  is  essential  to  a  right  under- 
standing of  any  of  the  great  questions  of  religion  and  philoso- 
phy, as  well  as  of  those  of  science,  which  we  shall  meet  in  the 
course  of  our  study,  to  recognize  at  the  beginning  the  relatively 
limited  aims  and  pretensions  which  the  psychology  of  religion, 
justly  understood,   should  maintain.     I   cannot  help  thinking 
that  it  would  ultimately  lead  to  great  disappointment,  if  not 
to  positive  skepticism,  if  we  should  sanguinely  expect,  as  I  fear 
many  cultured  religious  people  have  been  led  to  expect,  that 
the  psychological  study  of  religion  can  demonstrate  any  of  the 
truths  of  theology.     And  equally  misleading  does  it  seem  to  me 
to  suppose,  as  some  leading  "  functional  "  psychologists  seem  to 
do,  that  the  psychology  of  religion  can  ever  so  develop  as  to  be 
in  any  sense  a  substitute  for  philosophy  or  theology.     In  the 
opinion   of  this  school,   ethics,  aesthetics,   logic,   epistemology, 
and  metaphysics,   are  ultimately  nothing  but  functional  psy- 
chology. As  a  result,  the  psychology  of  religion  "  becomes  "  in 
Professor   Ames's   words,    "  the   conditioning   science   for   the 
various  branches  of  theology,  or  rather,  it  is  the  science  which 
in  its  developed  forms  becomes  the  theology  or  the  philosophy 
of  religion.     If  reality  is  given  in  experience  (and  where  else 
could  it  be  given  ?),  then  the  science  of  that  experience  furnishes 
the  reasonable  and  fruitful  method  of  dealing  with  reality,  in- 
cluding ihe  reality  of  religion.     The  psychology  of  religion  pos- 
sesses, therefore,  the  greatest  possible  significance.     It  does  not 
merely  prepare  the  way  for  theology,  but  in  its  most  elementary 
inquiries  it  is  already  dealing  with  essentials  of  theology  and 
the  philosophy  of  religion.     On  the  other  hand,  the  philosophy 
of  religion  in  its  most  ultimate  problems  and  refined  develop- 
ments does  not  transcend  the  principles  of  psychology.     The 
idea  of  God,  for  example,  which  is  the  central  conception  of  the- 


THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION  41 

ology,  is  subject  to  the  same  laws  of  the  mental  life  as  are  all 
other  ideas,  and  there  is  but  one  science  of  psychology  applica- 
ble to  it.i« 

On  reading  passages  like  this  from  enthusiastic  representa- 
tives of  the  new  functional  psychology  one  comes  away  won- 
dering not  that  they  have  included  so  much  but  that  they  have 
included  so  little  within  their  capacious  science.  Why  stop 
with  the  various  branches  of  philosophy  ?  Why  not  also  reduce 
physics,  chemistry,  astronomy  to  functional  psychology? 
What,  indeed,  are  the  physical  sciences  but  formulations  of  ex- 
perience —  and  is  not  psychology  the  science  of  experience  ? 
The  same  arguments  hold  in  the  case  of  physics  that  held 
for  metaphysics.  Surely  if  ^^  the  idea  of  God  is  subject  to 
the  same  laws  of  the  mental  life  as  are  all  other  ideas,"  the 
same  may  be  said  with  equal  truth  of  the  idea  of  the  solar  sys- 
tem. And  this,  I  think,  makes  clear  both  the  fallacy  and  the 
danger  of  this  "  pragmatic  "  view.  Psychology  studies  the  idea 
of  God  and  the  idea  of  the  solar  system  and  stops  there.  But 
neither  astronomy  nor  theology  means  to  limit  its  study  to  our 
ideas.  They  both  mean  to  be  objective  —  and  it  is  hard  to 
see  why  one  should  be  denied  this  privilege  if  it  be  granted  to 
the  other.  And  if  objectivity  be  denied  to  theology,  the  dan- 
gers that  inevitably  result  are  evident.  Theology  becomes 
purely  subjective, —  a  description  of  the  way  we  feel ;  the  idea 
of  God  is  substituted  for  God  and  hence  becomes  the  idea  of  an 
idea,  or  a  confessed  illusion;  and  the  psychology  of  religion, 
having  absorbed  all  that  was  objective  in  religion,  finds  it  has 
nothing  left  to  study,  or  at  best  becomes  a  branch  of  abnormal 
psychology.  "  This  method,"  writes  Boutroux,  ^'  if  it  succeed, 
w^ill  lead  sooner  or  later  to  the  abolition  of  the  fact  itself,  while 
the  dogmatic  criticism  of  religions  has  striven  in  vain  for  cen- 
turies to  obtain  this  result.  .  .  .  Contrary,  then,  to  the  other 
sciences  which  leave  standing  the  things  that  they  explain,  the 
one  just  mentioned  has  this  remarkable  property  of  destroying 
its  object  in  the  act  of  describing  it,  and  of  substituting  itself 
for  the  facts  in  proportion  as  it  analyzes  them."  ^^ 

The  psychology  of  religion  must  then,  in  my  opinion,  take  a 

18  «  The  Psychology  of  Religious  Experience."  pp.  26-27. 

19  "  Science  and  Religion"   (English  translation,  New  York,  Macmillan: 
1911),  pp.   196-197. 


\ 


42  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

much  humbler  position  than  that  which  some  of  its  devotees 
desire  for  it.  It  must  content  itself  with  a  description  of  hu- 
man experience,  while  recognizing  that  there  may  well  be 
spheres  of  reality  to  which  these  experiences  refer  and  with 
which  thoy  are  possibly  connected,  which  yet  cannot  be  inves- 
tigated by  science.  From  this  less  ambitious  view  of  its  task, 
however,  one  must  not  conclude  that  the  psychology  of  religion 
is  either  valueless  as  an  end  or  useless  as  a  means.  Sharing  in 
the  limitations  of  science,  it  shares  also  in  its  values.  If  re- 
ligion is  worth  a  tenth  part  of  what  its  believers  claim  for  it, 
it  is  worth  cultivating  as  a  human  possession;  and  if  it  is  to 
be  wisely  and  fruitfully  cultivated,  it  should  be  carefully  and 
scientifically  studied.  If  the  religious  values  are  to  any  extent 
bound  up  with  each  other  and  with  the  rest  of  life  by  laws 
of  relationship,  it  is  of  great  importance  for  us  to  know  what 
those  laws  are.  The  psychology  of  religion  is  still  too  young 
to  have  accomplished  a  great  deal  in  this  practical  direction. 
The  field  has  been  surveyed  only  in  its  outlines,  and  only  in  a 
general  way  can  the  practical  religious  worker  gain  from 
psychology  a  knowledge  of  what  to  expect  in  any  given  case. 
Exact  and  perfectly  certain  prediction  is,  of  course,  out  of  the 
question.  But  it  is  not  too  much  to  say  that  he  who  would 
systematically  cultivate  the  religious  life  can  already  find  a 
good  deal  of  practical  help  from  the  psychology  of  religion ;  and 
as  our  knowledge  of  it  increases  we  may  confidently  look  to  it 
for  more  and  more  assistance. 

But  even  aside  from  its  practical  application,  the  psychology 
of  religion  has  a  value  as  an  end  in  itself  for  all  those  who, 
in  Aristotle's  phrase,  "  desire  knowledge."  To  know  the  truth 
is  worth  while  for  its  own  sake, —  Francis  Bacon,  in  fact,  went 
so  far  as  to  call  the  search  for  truth  and  its  attainment  "  the 
sovereign  good  of  human  nature."  And  surely  few  things  are 
so  worthy  of  man's  study, —  just  because  few  things  are  so  thor- 
oughly and  deeply  human  —  as  is  religion.  It  dominates  the 
life  of  the  lowest  savage  and  fills  the  thought  of  the  most  trans- 
cendental philosopher.  It  is  the  central  power  of  the  primitive 
commimitv  and  it  animates  the  ideals  of  the  most  advanced 
civilization.  In  it  the  king  and  the  peasant,  the  rich  and  the 
poor,  the  saint  and  the  sinner  too,  feel  bound  together.     As 


THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGIOIST  43 

much  as  anything  else,  it  is  that  "  one  touch  of  nature  "  that 
"  makes  the  whole  world  akin."  It  is  the  first  thing  the  child 
learns  at  his  mother's  knee,  as  it  is  the  last  to  fill  his  mind  as  he 
enters  the  great  unknown. 

It  will,  then,  be  the  aim  of  this  book  to  describe  some  of  the 
facts  of  the  religious  consciousness  as  it  expresses  itself  in  vari- 
ous forms.  1^0  fundamental  thesis  will  be  defended  and  no 
unitary  law  will  be  laid  down  or  traced  out.  The  study  will 
be  frankly  inductive  and  empirical  and  therefore  perhaps  some- 
what fragmentary.  We  shall  seek  to  follow  where  the  facts 
lead,  believing  that  religion  is  so  great  a  thing  that  the  mere 
aim  to  describe  some  of  its  forms  and  expressions  is  an  ideal 
high  enough  to  justify  any  amount  of  patience  and  labor. 

Note.     The  subjects  discussed  in  the  preceding  chapter  are  of  such  funda- 
mental importance  that  the  reader  who  is  not  acquainted  with  the  litera- 
ture of  the  subject  should  consult  some  of  the  following  references: 
Boutroux,  "Science  and  Religion"   (New  York,  Macmillan:   1911),  Part  I, 

Chap.  IV,  Part  II.  Chap.  II. 
Bradley,  "Appearance  and  Reality"  (London,  Sonnenschein :  1897),  Chaps. 

11  and  22. 
Coe,  "The  Psychology  of  Religion"  (University  of  Chicago:   1916),  Chaps. 

I,  II,  and  III. 
Foster,   "The   Finality  of  the   Christian   Religion"    (Chicago,   University 

Press:   1906),  Chap.  6. 
Hoffding,  "The  Philosophy  of  Religion"    (London,  Macmillan:   1906),  pp. 

14-57. 
Holt,    "The   Concept  of    Consciousness"    (New   York,   Macmillan:    1914). 

Holt's  view  is  quite  different  from  that  presented  in  the  text. 
Mach,  "Science  of  Mechanics"   (Chicago,  Open  Court:  1893),  Chap.  2. 
Macintosh,  "  Tlieology  as  an  Empirical  Science"    (New  York,  Macmillan: 

1919),  Introduction. 
Mobius,    "Die    Hoffnungslosigkeit    aller    Psychologie "    (Halle,    Marhold: 

1907). 
More,  "  Atomic  Theories  and  Modern  Physics,"  Hibbert  Journal,  VII,  864- 

881;    "The    Metaphysical    Tendencies    of    Modern    Physics,"    Hibbert 

Journal,  VII,  800-817. 
Miinsterberg,  "  Grungziige  der  Psychologie  "  (Leipzig,  Barth :  1900) ,  Chap.  2. 
Pearson,  "  The  Grammar  of  Science  "  (London,  Black:  1900),  Chaps.  2,  3,  4. 
Perry,  "The  Approach  to  Philosophy"  (New  York,  Scribners:  1905),  Chap. 

5;  "Present  Philosophical  Tendencies"  (New  York,  Longmans:  1912), 

Chap.  3. 
Poincar^,   "Science   and   Hypothesis"    (New   York,   Science  Press:    1905), 

Parts  III  and  IV;  "The  Value  of  Science"  (New  York,  Science  Press: 

1907)    Part  III. 
Royce,  "The  World  and  the  Individual,"  Vol.  II.   (New  York,  Macmillan: 

1901)  ;  Lectures  1,  2,  4,  and  5. 


44  THE  RELIGTOITS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

Taylor,    'Elements  of  MrtnphvBica  "    { Ixjndon,  Methuon:    1003),  Book  III, 

Chap.  «.      Hook  IV,  Chap.   1. 
Ward,    '•  Nnttiralism    and    Agnoaticiam  "(London,   Black:    1906),   Lectures 

1,  2,  and  3. 


CHAPTEK  III 

RELIGION  AND  THE  SUBCONSCIOUS 

The  aim  of  science  is  to  make  out  a  complete  general  descrip- 
tion of  human  experience  in  the  form  of  laws  of  regular  and 
predictable  sequence.  But,  as  was  pointed  out  in  our  last  chap- 
ter, the  perfect  realization  of  this  ideal  is  impossible  because 
there  are  breaks  or  gaps  in  this  experience  as  we  know  it ;  not 
all  the  sequences  which  we  experience  are  complete.  Evidently 
there  are  two  ways  conceivable  in  which  this  difficulty  may  be 
met.  One  is  by  discovering  new  events,  actually  experienced 
but  hitherto  unknown,  which  will  help  to  fill  up  the  gaps.  The 
other  is  to  make  the  hypothesis  of  unexperienced  events  which 
cannot  be  genuinely  verified  but  which  are  nevertheless  useful 
in  enabling  us  to  think  together  the  sundered  strands  of  our 
unconnected  experience.  I^ow  when  such  gaps  occur  in  mental 
sequences,  the  psychologist  has  two  possible  sources  to  which  he 
may  look  for  gap-fillers.  One  of  these  is  the  physical  world, 
especially  that  part  of  it  known  as  the  nervous  system  of  the 
individual.  The  other  is  the  "  subconscious."  Each  of  these 
sources  furnishes  the  psychologist  with  both  the  kinds  of  as- 
sistance mentioned  above : —  from  each,  that  is,  he  derives  new 
experienced  events  and  unverified  but  useful  hypotheses. 
Upon  the  facts  and  fictions  of  physiological  psychology,  I  shall 
not  dwell ;  but  the  subconscious  looms  so  large  in  recent  discus- 
sions of  the  psychology  of  religion  that  I  feel  justified  in  de- 
voting the  present  chapter  to  a  consideration  of  it. 

The  conception  of  the  subconscious  or  the  unconscious  origin- 
ated, I  suppose,  with  Leibniz.^  It  was  made  popular  as  a 
philosophic  doctrine  by  von  Hartman  in  his  dangerously  fascin- 
ating work,  "  Die  Philosophic  des  Unbewussten."  ^  But  it  was 
not  until  relatively  recent  times  that  it  was  imported  from 

1  Cf .  the  Monadology   ( passim ) ,  and  the  New  Essays, 

2  English    Translation   by    Coupland    (London,    Paul,    Trench,    Triibner: 
1884.) 


46  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

philosophy  into  psychology  in  the  stricter  sense  of  the  term. 
This  was  done  partly  by  F.  W.  H.  Myers  and  his  followers, 
partly  by  various  nourologists  and  medical  men  whose  researches 
and  practice  led  them  into  the  field  of  pathological  mental  phe- 
nomena. Coming  into  psychology  through  this  double  door- 
way, the  conception  of  the  subconscious  has  had  a  rather  varied 
development.  The  physicians  have  groped  and  grubbed  and 
worked  their  way  through  a  mass  of  abnormal  and  often  very 
unpleasant  cases,  mining  what  facts  they  could ;  while  the 
Myers  school  has  been  borne,  often  on  the  wings  of  intuition,  to 
conclusions  far  more  interesting,  and,  if  true,  metaphysically 
far  more  significant. 

Myers's  hypothesis  was  that  the  conscious  self  of  each  of  us 
is  only  a  small  part  of  the  real  self;  that  underneath  the  con- 
scious personality  there  extends  a  much  larger  "  subliminal  " 
self,  below  the  threshold  of  our  immediate  awareness,  behind 
the  door,  dominating  many  of  our  actions  and  our  thoughts  by 
powers  not  known  to  us,  and  constituting  the  real  and  essential 
personality,  of  which  the  conscious  self  is  but  a  broken  gleam. 
He  writes :  "  The  conscious  self  of  each  of  us,  as  we  call  it, — 
the  empirical,  the  supraliminal  self,  as  I  should  prefer  to  say, — 
does  not  comprise  the  whole  of  the  consciousness  or  of  the  faculty 
within  us.  There  exists  a  more  comprehensive  consciousness, 
a  profounder  faculty,  which  for  the  most  part  remains  potential 
only  so  far  as  regards  the  life  of  earth,  but  from  which  the  con- 
sciousness and  the  faculty  of  earth-life  are  mere  selections,  and 
which  reasserts  itself  in  its  plenitude  after  the  liberating  change 
of  death."  ^  This  does  not  mean  that  we  have  two  selves ;  it 
means  that  the  one  true  self  is  the  totality  of  which  the  supra- 
liminal part  is  but  a  fraction.  "  I  mean  by  the  subliminal 
self  that  part  of  the  self  which  is  commonly  subliminal ;  and  I 
conceive  that  there  may  be,  not  only  cooperations  between  these 
quasi-independent  trains  of  thought,  but  also  upheavals  and  al- 
ternations of  personality  of  many  kinds,  so  that  what  was  once 
below  the  surface  may  for  a  time,  or  permanently,  rise  above  it. 
And  I  conceive  also  that  no  self  of  which  we  can  here  have 
cognizance  is  in  reality  more  than  a  fragment  of  a  larger  Self  — 

3  "Human    Personality   and    Its    Survival   of    Bodily   Death"    (London, 
Longmans:  1903).     Vol*  I,  p.  12. 


KELIGION  AND  THE  SUBCONSCIOUS         47 

revealed  in  a  fashion  at  once  shifting  and  limited  through  an 
organism  not  so  framed  as  to  afford  it  full  manifestation."  * 

Within  this  subliminal  part  of  us,  as  within  the  supraliminal 
part,  there  are  various  kinds  of  phenomena,  some  lofty,  some 
"  dissolutive."  To  illustrate  this,  Myers  uses  a  simile  which 
has  become  famous,  the  comparison,  namely,  of  our  empirical 
consciousness  to  the  visible  spectrum  and  of  our  subliminal  fac- 
ulties to  the  ether  waves  which  we  cannot  see.  '^  At  both 
ends  of  this  spectrum,  I  believe  that  our  evidence  indicates  a 
momentous  prolongation.  Beyond  the  red  end,  of  course,  we 
already  know  that  vital  faculty  of  some  kind  must  needs  extend. 
We  know  that  organic  processes  are  constantly  taking  place  ' 
within  us  which  are  not  subject  to  our  control,  but  which  make 
the  very  foundation  of  our  physical  being.  We  know  that  the 
habitual  limits  of  our  voluntary  act  can  be  far  extended  under 
the  influence  of  strong  excitement.  It  need  not  surprise  us  to 
find  that  appropriate  artifices  —  hypnotism  and  self-sugges- 
tion —  can  carry  the  power  of  our  will  over  our  organism  to  a 
yet  further  point.  The  faculties  that  lie  beyond  the  violet  end 
of  our  psychological  spectrum  will  need  more  delicate  exliibition 
and  will  command  a  less  ready  belief.  The  actinic  energy  which 
lies  beyond  the  violet  end  of  our  solar  spectrum  is  less  obviously 
influential  in  our  material  world  than  is  the  dark  heat  which  lies 
beyond  the  red  end.  Even  so,  one  may  say,  the  influence  of  the 
ultra-intellectual  or  supernormal  faculties  upon  our  welfare  as 
terrene  organisms  is  less  marked  in  common  life  than  the  influ- 
ence of  the  organic  or  subnormal  faculties.  Yet  it  is  that  pro- 
longation of  our  spectrum  upon  which  our  gaze  will  need  to  be 
most  strenuously  fixed.  It  is  there  that  we  shall  find  our  in- 
quiry opening  upon  the  cosmic  prospect,  and  inciting  us  upon 
an  endless  way."  ^ 

It  is,  according  to  Myers,  from  this  violet  end  of  the  spec-  , 
trum,  so  to  speak  —  from  the  supernormal  part  of  our  sub- 
liminal selves  —  that  come  the  insight  of  the  poet  and  the 
intuition  of  the  prophet.     Art  and  religion,  mysticism,  love,  in-   ^ 
vention  —  these  and  many  other  striking  facts  of  human  nature 
are  thus  made  intelligible  by  one  hypothesis.     "  An  ^  inspiration 

4  Ibid.  p.  15. 

5  Ibid.  Vol.  I,  p.  18. 


48  THE  HELIGTOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

of  genius^  will  bo  in  truth  a  suhUmiJial  uprush,  an  emergence 
into  tlie  current  of  ideas  which  the  man  is  consciously  manipu- 
lating of  other  ideas,  which  he  has  not  consciously  originated, 
but  which  have  shaped  themselves  beyond  his  will,  in  profounder 
regions  of  his  being."  ® 

All  readers  of  the  "  Varieties  of  Religious  Experience  "  will 
remember  how  much  Professor  James  was  influenced  by  these 
views  of  ^Nfyers.^  Not  that  he  accepted  Myers's  hypothesis  in  its 
totality.  James  was  too  keen  a  psychologist  and  too  empirical 
a  philosopher  to  consider  Myers's  view  a  demonstrated  truth. 
Nor  did  he  feel  at  all  sure  that  the  subconscious  part  of  the 
mind  had  sufficient  unity  to  be  regarded  as  a  personality.  The 
evidence,  in  his  opinion,  was  as  yet  far  too  scanty  to  justify  us 
in  coming  to  any  conclusion  on  the  exact  nature  and  organiza- 
tion of  these  subliminal  facts.  But  he  was  convinced  that  the 
conscious  self  came  into  touch  with,  and  was  influenced  by, 
psychic  forces  that  psychology"  had  as  yet  hardly  recognized. 
This  he  regarded  as  of  prime  importance  to  the  subject  of  psy- 
chology. ''  We  have,"  said  he,  ^'  in  the  fact  that  the  conscious 
personality  is  continuous  with  a  wider  self  through  which  saving 
experiences  come,  a  positive  content  of  religious  experience 
which,  it  seems  to  me,  is  literally  and  objectively  true  as  far  as 
it  goes."  And  his  o^vn  "  over-belief  "  was  that  our  being  upon 
its  further  side  plunges  "  into  an  altogether  other  dimension  of 
existence  from  the  sensible  and  merely  '  understandable ' " 
world. ^ 

It  is  not  surprising  that  a  view  in  itself  so  romantic  as 
Myers's  hypothesis  of  the  subliminal  self,  presented  with  such 
charm  of  style,  and  having  the  sympathy,  if  not  the  positive  sup- 
port of  our  greatest  psychologist,  should  make  a  very  strong 
appeal  not  only  to  that  large  class  which  is  ever  eager  for  the 
mysterious,  but  to  many  serious  thinkers,  theologians,  and  re- 
ligious men,  who  have  found  in  the  works  of  Myers  and  James 
a  new  source  of  religious  hope  and  faith.     Had  not  this  dis- 

6  Ibid.  p.  71.     For  an  ablo  criticism  of  Myers's  theory  see  Prof.  Stout's 
article  on  it  in  the  Uihhert  Journal  for  October,  1903. 

7  See  also  his  paper  on  "  Frederick  Myers's  Services  to  Psychology,"  in 
"Memories  and  Studies."      (N.  Y.,  Longmans:   1911.) 

8  "  The  Varieties  of  Religious  Experience"    (London,  Longmans:    1903) 
p.  515. 


KELIGION  AND  THE  SUBCOISrSCIOUS  49 

covery  of  the  subconscious  self  come,  indeed,  in  the  very  nick 
of  time,  when  the  old  foundations  were  being  undermined  by 
criticism  and  thrown  down  by  science  ?  What  an  unforeseen, 
unhoped  for,  reversal  of  the  role  of  science  this  was !  No 
longer  the  foe,  science  was  now  become  the  ally  of  faith.  Here- 
after, Higher  Criticism  and  Rationalism  and  Naturalism  might 
do  their  worst.  Only  the  outworks  of  religion  were  open  to 
their  attack,  and  the  man  of  faith  might  when  he  chose  retire  to 
the  impregnable  fortress  of  his  Subconscious  Self. 

The  rapidity  with  which  this  view  has  spread  is  one  of  the 
most  interesting  facts  in  the  intellectual  history  of  recent 
years,  and  a  witness  to  the  wide-felt  need  of  a  belief  in  some- 
thing somehow  supernatural.  The  popular  magazines  have  got 
hold  of  it,  and  the  man  in  the  street  knows  that  there  are  two 
of  him.  Preachers  have  made  their  congregations  familiar 
with  this  new  basis  for  religion,  and  books  written  by  scientific 
—  and  by  unscientific  —  men  have  taken  it  for  granted.  I 
quote  a  typical  passage  from  one  of  them : 

"  The  subconscious  mind  is  a  normal  part  of  our  spiritual 
nature.  There  is  reason  to  believe  that  it  is  purer,  more  sen- 
sitive to  good  and  evil,  than  our  conscious  mind.  .  .  .  Though 
it  is  doubtless  more  generic  and  in  closer  contact  with  the 
Universal  Spirit  than  reason,  yet  its  creations  bear  the  imprint 
of  individual  genius."  ^  Another  writer  puts  it  thus :  "  Man's 
mind  is  something  far  larger  than  he  is  conscious  of:  his  con- 
sciousness is  but  a  speck  of  light  illuminating  one  part  of  his 
whole  self.  .  .  .  Or,  to  put  the  matter  in  a  still  simpler  meta- 
phor, the  mind  is  like  an  iceberg  of  which  the  greater  part  is 
hidden  under  the  sea."  ^^  A  distinguished  theologian  varies 
the  figure,  likening  the  mind  not  to  an  iceberg,  but  —  as  near 
as  I  can  make  it  out  —  to  a  sort  of  bottle  with  a  narrow  neck 
and  no  bottom.  The  narrow  neck  is  our  consciousness,  the  main 
part  of  the  vessel  is  our  subconscious,  and  from  it  "  filters  " 
up  the  contents  of  our  minds.  Moreover,  "  the  narrow-necked 
vessel  has  an  opening  at  the  bottom,  which  is  not  stopped  by 
any  sponge.     Through  it  there  are  incomings  and  outgoings, 

»  Dr.  Worcester,  in  "Religion  and  Medicine,"   (New  York,  Moffat  Yard: 
1908),  p.   42. 

10  Dreamer,  "Body  and  Soul,"  (New  York,  Dutton:  1909),  p.  39. 


50  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

which  stretch  awav  into  infinity,  and  in  fact  proceed  from,  and 
are,  God  Himself}'  '' 

It  is  evident  that  we  are  here  dealing  with  a  question  of 
prime  importance  for  more  things  than  psychology.  If  the 
mind  is  the  sort  of  thing  described  above,  we  ought  to  know 
it;  and  we  ought  to  consider  carefully  the  evidence  on  which 
the  conclusion  is  based.  To  get  at  the  evidence,  however,  on 
which  the  belief  in  the  subconscious  rests  is  made  doubly  difficult 
by  the  fact  that  the  term  in  question  is  exceedingly  ambigu- 
ous. Like  other  amiable  beasts  of  burden,  it  has  been  so  over- 
worked that  it  is  now  good  for  little  but  a  vacation  —  a  reward 
which  it  might  be  well  to  grant.  The  many  meanings  which 
it  has  had  to  bear  can,  however,  be  reduced  to  three  or  pos- 
sibly four  principal  ones,  which  we  shall  now  examine  in  turn. 

The  first  of  these  uses  of  the  word  "  subconscious  "  makes  it 
synon^Tuous  with  the  fringe  or  background  of  the  mind.^^ 
This  is,  of  course,  a  part  of  our  immediate  experience,  of  our 
direct  awareness,  with  nothing  subliminal  or  supernormal 
about  it.  If  our  consciousness  be  represented  by  a  series  of 
concentric  circles,  the  innermost  of  these  will  stand  for  the 
center  of  closest  attention,  and  the  outermost  zone  for  the  fringe- 
region  or  background.  Between  the  two  there  is  no  break, 
no  "  dissociation,''  but  one  shades  off  into  the  other  by  a  gradual 
decrease  in  vividness  of  content.     This  outer  zone  of  our  con- 

11  Sanday,  "  Christologies  Ancient  and  Modern,"  Oxford  U.  Press,  1910. 
See  also  the  comrnpnts  upon  Dr.  Sandy's  book  by  the  Bishop  of  Ossory  in 
the  Hibhert  Journal,  IX,  235. —  Other  figures  beside  that  of  the  iceberg  and 
the  bottle  are  often  met  with  among  enthusiastic  expounders  of  the  wonders 
of  the  Subconscious.  Edward  Lewis,  in  a  rather  beautiful  passage,  uses 
the  illustration  of  the  pool  communicating  with  the  ocean.  ("  Edward  Car- 
penter," N.  Y.,  Macmillan:  1915,  pp.  7-8.)  Rev.  Dr.  Snowden  likens  the  Sub- 
conscious to  the  five  or  six  story  cellar  of  a  skyscraper  ("The  Psj'chology 
of  Religion,"  Revell:  1916,  pp.  68-69).  Miss  Sinclair  finds  that  the  sub- 
conscious or  "  the  country  of  abnormal  consciousness,  stretches  forwards  as 
well  as  backwards,  and  belongs  every  bit  as  mtlch  to  our  future  as  to  our 
past."     ("A  Defence  of  Idealism,"  New  York,  Macmillan:   1917,  p.  259.) 

12  E.g.  Prof.  Joseph  Jastrow  —  this  at  least  is  at  times  the  meaning  he 
gives  the  word.  Cf.  his  work  on  "The  Subconscious"  (Boston,  Houghton, 
Mifflin:  1906).  Marshall  takes  a  similar  view,  using  the  subconscious  to 
mean  "  the  undifferentiated  mass  of  unemphatic  psychic  parts  which  con- 
stitutes what  we  may  well  speak  of  as  the  field  of  inattentive  or  sub-at- 
tentive consciousness."  See  "  Consciousness  "  (N.  Y.,  Macmillan:  1909),  p. 
20;  and  also  his  articles  in  the  Journal  of  Phil.,  Vol.  V,  nos.  4  and  18,  and 
in  the  Hibbert  Journal,  Vol.  VII,  p.  307. 


KELIGI0:N^  and  the  SUBCOI^SCIOUS         61 

sciousness,  however,  though  not  attended  to,  is  often  of  decisive 
importance  in  guiding  both  our  thought  and  our  action.  We 
seldom  realize  all  the  factors  that  go  to  determine  our  decisions 
and  our  judgments.  The  syllogism  is  really  a  very  poor  rep- 
resentative of  the  way  we  think.  There  is  a  great  deal  more 
in  our  consciousness  at  any  moment  than  we  pay  attention  to ; 
and  this  great,  vague,  unanalyzed  mass  of  what  Marshall  calls 
our  "  sub-attentive  consciousness  "  furnishes  a  large  part  of 
the  data  for  our  judgments,  and  often  forms  our  opinions  when 
we  think  we  have  reasoned  our  wav  to  them.  "  The  inventor, 
in  working  on  his  particular  invention,  has  a  mass  of  accumu- 
lated material  and  experience,  indispensable  for  the  develop- 
ment of  the  invention,  but  which  is  in  the  background  of  his 
consciousness.  Similarly,  the  mathematician,  in  solving  his 
problem,  which  forms  the  focus  of  his  consciousness,  possesses 
a  body  of  knowledge  or  a  mass  of  material  which,  though  it 
lies  in  the  periphery  of  his  consciousness,  still  forms  the  main- 
stay of  his  particular  investigation. '^  ^^  Both  our  rougher  and 
more  general  opinions  and  our  more  exact  discriminations  de- 
pend in  large  measure  on  what  Jastrow  calls  "  mass  impres- 
sionism " —  the  total  unanalyzed  effect  which  the  object  in 
question  has  upon  the  background  of  our  minds. -^^  The  bank- 
cashier  may  be  able  to  detect  the  counterfeit  bill  with  unfailing 
certainty,  and  yet  be  quite  unable  to  tell  you  how  he  does  it, 
or  to  describe  with  any  exactness  the  ear-marks  of  genuine  paper 
money. 
^  The  influence  of  the  background  upon  life  and  action  is  no 
less  marked.  In  Professor  Ward's  opinion,  the  background  or 
"  continuum,"  as  he  calls  it,  is  the  original  form  of  psychic 
life,  and  it  is  from  it  as  a  matrix  that  all  the  more  sharply  de- 
fined forms  of  consciousness  have  developed.  ^'^  It  is  not  at 
all  to  be  considered  as  a  mere  reservoir  of  sensations  unattended 
to.  Besides  the  sensations  and  the  hazy  ideas  —  and  more 
primitive  and  fundamental  than  they  —  there  are  in  the  fringe 
all  manner  of  latent  and  incipient  impulses,  attitudes,  tenden- 

isSidis  and  Goodhait.  "  :Miiltiple  Personality"  (New  York,  Appleton: 
1905)    p.  241. 

1*  For  many  excellent  examploa  see  "  The  Subconscious,"  pp.  425-429. 

15  See  his  article  "  Psychology  "  in  the  Encyclopedia  Britannica,  eleventh 
Ed.  (1911),  Vol.  XXII,  esp.  pp*.  555-556. 


52  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

cies  to  reaction,  partially  suppressed  feelings,  wishes,  volitions. 
"  The  instinctive  desires  and  impulses  have  their  roots  in  it, 
and  get  their  power  from  it ;  the  inborn  reactions  upon  the 
environment,  so  far  as  they  are  conscious,  the  native  an- 
tipathies and  tendencies,  our  deepest  loves  and  hates  —  all 
these  are  parts  of  it  and  grow  up  out  of  it."  Moreover,  "  it 
is  the  inheritor  of  our  past,  and  forms  what  might  be  called  a 
feeling  memory.  At  every  moment  our  whole  outlook  is  col- 
ored by  our  past  impressions  and  ideas.  These  are  not  present 
as  such  —  they  are  not  distinctly  remembered  —  but  a  general 
feeling-tone  and  tendency  to  reaction  is  established  by  them  and 
is  modified  by  each  event  of  life;  in  short,  the  total  feeling^ 
background  is  affected  by  all  our  thoughts  and  experiences  in 
such  a  way  that  they  influence  every  passing  moment.  Our 
total  past  experience  is  in  a  sense  summed  and  massed  in  the 
background,  and  thus  becomes  a  compendium  of  our  history. 
But  it  is  much  more  than  that ;  it  is  largely  the  store-house  of 
heredity  as  well.  It  is  in  the  line  of  direct  descent  and  in- 
herits an  endless  amount  of  wisdom  gained  with  so  much  toil 
by  our  entire  ancestry."  Thus  it  has  a  kind  of  ''  racial  or  tn- 
stinctive  wisdom  which  seems  to  put  it  in  touch,  in  a  perfectly 
natural  manner,  with  forces  hidden  from  the  clearly  conscious 
personality  and  which  makes  it  wiser  in  many  ways  than  the 
individual."  ^^ 

There  is  nothing  mysterious  about  this,  nothing  superna- 
tural, nothing  that  is  in  any  sense  a  discovery.  The  fringe 
region  is  in  no  way  "  higher  "  or  "  purer  "  than  the  center  of 
consciousness.  It  contains  evil  as  well  as  good,  or  rather,  it 
contains  neither  the  one  nor  the  other,  but  the  materials  for 
both.  Only  conscious  personality  is  moral  —  nothing  is  mor- 
ally good  except  a  good  will.  The  background  is  only  a  back- 
ground ;  it  is  there  not  for  its  own  sake  but  for  the  sake  of  the 
total  personality.  The  best  and  purest  aspect  of  the  mind, 
the  aspect  of  it  most  highly  developed  and  the  most  nobly  hu- 
man, is  to  be  found  not  in  the  obscure  shadows  of  the  back- 
gi-ound,  but  in  the  clear  sunlight  of  full  consciousness. 

16  Pratt,  "The  Psychology  of  Religious  Belief,"  pp.  15  and  23.  I  take 
this  opportunity  to  acknowledge  the  justice  of  certain  criticisms  of  Chapter 
I  of  the  book  referred  to.     There  is  no  doubt  that  in  that  work  I  identified 


KELIGION  AND  THE  SUBCONSCIOUS         53 

A  second  meaning  sometimes  given  to  the  term  "  subcon- 
scious '^  makes  it  identical  with  the  unconscious,  and  interprets 
the  unconscious  as  the  purely  physiological.  It  is  a  generally 
accepted  hypothesis  that  brain  facts  accompany  mind  facts, 
either  as  a  causal  substratum  or  as  correlates.  While  it  has 
not  been  absolutely  demonstrated,  it  seems  most  probable  that 
certain  brain  events  are  so  correlated  with  certain  mind  events 
that  the  former  are  regularly  followed  or  accompanied  by  the 
latter.  If  this  is  true,  then  many  of  the  phenomena  of  con- 
sciousness are  to  be  explained  (in  the  sense  indicated  in  the 
preceding  chapter)  by  reference  to  the  unconscious,  that  is,  to 
physical  phenomena  in  the  nervous  system.  Moreover,  the 
physiological  mechanism  of  the  body  performs  many  purposeful 
acts  without  direction  of  consciousness,  such  for  example  as  the 
numerous  organic,  reflex,  and  instinctive  movements.  May  we 
not,  therefore,  explain  the  various  phenomena  commonly  at- 
tributed to  the  action  of  the  "  subconscious  "  as  due  to  the  un- 
conscious, that  is,  to  the  automatic  activity  of  the  nervous  sys- 
tem? Many  of  these  phenomena  were  thus  explained  by  Dr. 
Carpenter  over  sixty  years  ago  as  due  to  "  unconscious  cere- 
bration "  ;^'^  and  a  large  number  of  psychologists  ^^  to-day  insist 
that  there  is  nothing  in  the  facts  that  have  come  to  light  since 
Carpenter's  "  Mental  Physiology  "  was  written  to  force  us  to 
any  other  principle  of  explanation. 

It  is  plain  enough,  however,  that  this  explanation  will  suit 
neither  the  Myers  school  nor  the  majority  of  the  pathologists. 
Nor  are  these  gentlemen  any  better  satisfied  with  the  first  mean- 
ing of  the  word  "  subconscious  "  suggested  above.  They  will 
insist  that  the  subconscious  is  not  merely  the  physiological,  and 
that  it  is  not  to  be  identified  with  the  content  of  the  fringe. 

feeling  too  closely  with  the  background  and  gave  it  too  preponderating  a 
position  over  thought. 

17  See  his  "Mental  Physiology"  (Fourth  Ed.  N.  Y.,  Appleton:  1887.) 
Chap.  XIII.  The  famous  phrase  quoted  above  appeared  first  in  the  4th 
edition  of  his  "  Human  Physiology,"  published  in  1853. 

18  E.g.  Miinsterberg,  Ribot,  Pierce,  Kirkpatrick. —  See  "  A  Symposium  on 
the  Subconscious,"  papers  by  Miinsterberg  and  Ribot,  Journal  of  Abnormal 
Psychology,  II  25-37 ;  Pierce's  paper  "  An  Appeal  from  the  Prevailing  Doc- 
trine of  a  Detached  Subconsciousness"  in  the  Garman  "Studies"  (Boston, 
Houghton,  Mifflin:  1906);  and  replies  to  iMorton  Prince  by  Pierce  and 
Kirkpatrick  respectively  in  the  Journal  of  Phil.,  V.,  269  ff.  and  421  ff. 


54  THE  KELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

For  them  the  real  question  of  the  subconscious,  therefore,  is 
whether  this  fringe  material  is  the  last  thing  in  the  way  of 
psychic  stutT,  or  whether  there  is  genuine  consciousness  not  felt 
by  the  personal  center  and  yet  connected  with  the  same  physical 
organism.  Does  the  consciousness  of  which  we  are  aware  ex- 
haust all  the  psychical  phenomena  centering  in  our  bodies,  or 
are  there  pulses  of  consciousness  entirely  outside  the  circle  of 
our  awareness  ?  In  other  words,  to  use  at  last  an  unambiguous 
term,  is  there  such  a  thing  as  a  co-consciousness? 

I  said  above  that  there  were  three  or  possibly  four  meanings 
which  the  word  '^  subconscious  "  at  times  bore.  Its  interpreta- 
tion as  a  co-consciousness  is,  of  course,  the  third  of  these.  The 
fourth,  if  there  be  a  fourth,  is  very  hard  to  state.  We  some- 
times find  the  word  "  subconscious  "  —  or  more  commonly  the 
w^ord  ''  unconscious  " — ''  das  Unhewusste/*  ''  Vmconscieni  " — 
used  to  mean  some  kind  of  psychic  state  which  is  yet  uncon- 
scious. Bergson,  for  example,  appeals  at  times  to  such  uncon- 
scious mental  states. ^^  Freud,  in  some  parts  of  the  "  Traum- 
deutung,"  insists  upon  unconscious  psychic  states  in  no  uncer- 
tain terms,  and  in  one  passage  (part  of  which  I  reproduce  in  a 
note  ^^)  quotes  Professor  Lipps  as  an  upholder  of  the  same  view. 

Just  what  can  be  meant  by  "  unconscious  psychic  states  "  it 

19  See  "Mati&re  et  Memoir"  (Paris,  Alcan:  1903),  Chaps.  II  and  III, 
esp.  pp.  152-161. 

20  "  Die  Frage  des  Unbewussten  in  der  Psychologie  ist  nach  dem  kraftigen 
Worte  von  Lipps  woniger  eine  psychologische  Frage,  als  die  Frage  der 
Psychologie.  So  lange  die  Psychologie  diese  Frage  durch  die  Worterkliir- 
ung  erledigto,  das  "  Psychische "  sei  eben  das  "  Bewusste,"  and  "  unbe- 
wusste  psychische  Vorgiinge  "  ein  greifbarer  Widersinn,  blieb  eine  psycho- 
logische Verwertung  der  Beobachtungen,  welche  ein  Arzt  an  abnormen 
SeelenzustUnden  gcwinnen  konnte,  ausgeschlossen.  Erst  dann  treffen  der 
Arzt  iind  der  Philosoph  zusammen,  wenn  beide  anerkennen,  unbewusste 
psychische  Vorgiinge  seien  '  der  zweckraiissige  und  wohlberechtige  Ausdruck 
filr  eine  feststehende  Tatsache.'  Der  Arzt  kann  nicht  anders,  als  die 
Versicherung,  '  das  Bewusstsein  sei  der  unentbehrliche  Character  des  Psy- 
chischen,'  mit  Achselzucken  zuriickweisen.  .  .  .  Die  Riickkehr  von  der 
tJberschatzung  der  Bewusstseinseigenschaft  wird  zur  unerliisslichen  Vor- 
bedingung  fiir  jede  richtige  Einsicht  in  den  Hergang  des  Psychischen.  Das 
als  allgemeine  Basis  des  psychischen  I^bens  angenommen  werden.  Das 
Unbewusste  muss  als  allgemeine  Basis  des  psychischen  Lebens  angenommen 
vrerden.  Das  Unbewusste  ist  der  grossere  Kreis,  der  den  kleineren  des 
Bewussten  in  sich  einschliesst;  alles  Bewusste  hat  eine  unbewusste  Vor- 
stufe,  wiihrend  das  Unbewusste  auf  dieser  Stufe  stehen  bleil)en  und  doch 
den  vollen  Wert  einer  psychischen  Leistung  beanspruchen  kann." — "Die 
Traumdeutung "    (Leipsig  und  Wien,  Deuticke:    1909),  p.  380. 


KELIGION  AND  THE  SUBC0:N^SCI0US  55 

is  a  little  hard  to  see.  The  term,  of  course,  immediately  sug- 
gests round  squares  and  true  falsehoods.  Freud's  o^vn  explan- 
ation of  the  anomaly  seems  to  be  that  it  is  "  something,  I  know 
not  what."  It  is,  he  insists,  "  the  genuinely  real  psychic  [das 
eigentlich  reale  Psychische],  as  completely  unknown  to  us  as 
to  its  inner  nature  as  is  the  reality  of  the  outer  world,  and  given 
to  us  through  the  data  of  consciousness  just  as  incompletely  as 
the  outer  world  is  given  through  the  sense  organs."  ^^ 

This  appeal  to  the  unknowable  to  explain  the  contradictory 
is  not  very  enlightening.  Hence  some  of  his  admirers  insist 
on  other  interpretations  of  the  Unheivusste.  Dr.  Bernard  Hart 
suggests  that  the  word  as  used  by  both  Freud  and  Jung  should 
be  taken  merely  as  a  concept,  a  short-hand  expression  for  the 
manipulation  of  our  experience,  rather  than  as  a  name  for  any- 
thing thought  of  as  really  existing.^^  Other  readers  of  Freud, 
in  spite  of  the  passage  referred  to  above,  will  insist  upon  inter- 
preting his  "  Unbewusstes  "  in  terms  of  co-conscious  mental 
states. ^^  And,  in  fact,  if  the  term  is  to  be  taken  as  referring 
to  anything  real  and  psychical  it  is  hard  to  see  what  else  it 
can  mean.  Hence  we  shall  now  turn  to  the  question  of  the 
existence  and  the  nature  of  the  co-conscious. 

The  facts  to  which  appeal  is  made  to  prove  the  existence  of   , 
a  co-consciousness   are  of   two   general   classes:     Firsts   those 
found  in  normal  subjects ;  and,  second ,  those  found  in  abnormal 
subjects,  whether  their  abnormal  condition  be  natural  or  in- 
duced temporarily  by  artificial  methods.     Limits  of  space  make 

21  Op.  cit.  p.  381. 

22  "The  Conception  of  the  Subconscious,"  Jour,  of  Abnormal  Pay.,  TV, 
354-62.  Dr.  Beatrice  Hinkle  in  the  Introduction  to  her  translation  of 
Jung's  "  Wandlungen  und  Symbole  der  Libido "  expresses  the  view  that 
for  Freud  —  and  apparently  also  for  Jung  —  the  "  Unconscious  "  means  the 
"  realm  "  where  various  unknown  but  disturbing  emotions  lie  hidden,  and 
that  it  is  also  "  a  name  used  arbitrarily  to  indicate  all  that  material  of 
which  the  person  is  not  aware  at  the  given  time  —  the  not  conscious." 
She  adds:  "This  terra  is  used  very  loosely  in  Freudian  psychology  and 
is  not  intended  to  provoke  any  academic  discussion  but  to  conform  strictly 
to  the  dictionary  classification  of  a  '  negative  concept  which  can  neither 
be  described  nor  defined.'"  ( Jung-TIinkle,  "Psychology  of  the  Uncon- 
scious," New  York,  Moffat  Yard:    1916,  p.  xv.) 

23  Dr.  Prince,  among  others,  often  refers  to  Freud's  views  in  this  way. 
A  very  clarifying  discussion  of  the  terms  Subconscious,  Unconscious,  and 
Co-conscious  will  be  found  in  Chap.  VII  of  Prince's  "  The  Unconscious  " 
(New  York,  Macmillan:    1914.) 


56  TUE  KELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

it  impossible  to  present  here  a  critical  exposition  of  the  facts 
in  question,  and  we  must,  therefore,  content  ourselves  with  the 
conclusions  (so  far  as  there  are  such)  to  which  the  weight  of 
scientific  opinion  inclines.  In  brief,  then,  the  evidence  does 
not  seem  to  be  such  as  to  force  us  to  the  hypothesis  of  a  co- 
consciousness  in  normal  human  beings.  Many  facts,  indeed, 
have  been  adduced  which  strongly  suggest  such  a  view,  but 
none  that  make  it  indispensable.  They  can,  I  think,  invariably 
be  explained  in  terms  of  the  fringe  or  of  the  nerve  processes, 
or  by  the  accepted  laws  of  psychology.  Several  competent  psy- 
chologists, to  be  sure,  would  not  concur  in  this  view,  and  further 
investigation  may  yet  show  that  their  position  is  preferable  to 
the  one  presented  above.  The  fact,  however,  that  these  psychol- 
ogists regard  the  split-off  states  of  normal  persons  as  of  rare 
occurrence  and  of  slight  importance,  and  the  difficulty  of  draw- 
ing any  hard  and  fast  line  between  normal  and  abnormal  sub- 
jects make  the  difference  between  the  two  positions  relatively  un- 
important. It  is  almost  indifferent  whether  we  say  that  normal 
persons  may  occasionally  have  fleeting,  split-off  conscious 
states,  or  that  normal  persons  never  have  such  states,  but  that 
many  or  most  of  us  are  occasionally  abnormal. 
'  When  we  turn  to  the  plainly  pathological  cases,  we  meet  a 
very  different  state  of  things.  The  evidence  here  for  co-con- 
scious mental  life  is  so  strong  that,  if  one  adopts  an  empirical 
point  of  view  and  refuses  to  decide  the  matter  on  a  prion  con- 
siderations, it  is  very  difficult  to  resist  the  conclusion  that  within 
the  same  mind  there  may  exist  at  the  same  time  both  a  principal 
and  a  subordinate  center  of  conscious  life,  split  off  from,  though 
mutually  influencing,  each  other.  I  must  hasten  to  add  that 
this  conclusion  is  not  shared  by  all  psychologists.  It  is,  how- 
ever, the  opinion  of  the  majority  of  those  who  have  had  first- 
hand experience  with  these  pathological  phenomena.  The  facts 
which  they  cite  seem  to  show  striking  marks  of  the  presence  of 
consciousness  and  of  some  consciousness  other  than  that  of  the 
patient's  leading  personality.  The  favorite  alternative  explan- 
ation is  unconscious  cerebration ;  and  the  ascription  of  so  much 
intelligence  to  purely  physiological  processes  as  that  hypothesis 
would  require  would  be  enough  to  make  one  seriously  doubt  the 
consciousness  of  one's  fellow-beings. 


RELIGI0:N"  and  the  subconscious         61 

It  may  indeed  very  well  be,  as  suggested  above,  that  even  in 
some  of  us  so-called  normal  persons  there  are  at  times  fleeting 
gleams  of  conscious  life  split  off  from  the  main  psychic  stream ; 
or,  if  we  prefer  another  way  of  putting  it,  that  any  of  us  may 
occasionally  become  temporarily  abnormal.  After  the  investi- 
gations of  Prince  and  other  alienists,  it  is  difficult  to  doubt  that 
mental  shocks  and  emotional  excitement  tend  not  only  to  confuse 
but  to  dissociate  consciousness.  If  this  be  the  case,  there  will  be 
all  degrees  of  dissociation,  ranging  from  cases  of  complete  or 
approximate  mental  unity  down  through  greater  and  greater 
degrees  of  dissociation,  until  at  last  we  find  several  fairly  inde- 
pendent and  fairly  unified  separate  "  personalities  "  or  ^'  com- 
plexes "  functioning  in  one  body,  or  until  even  these  are  disin- 
tegrated into  more  elementary  groups  of  psychic  states,  each 
narrower,  less  unified,  and  less  stable  than  the  last. 

The  nature  and  content  of  the  co-conscious  states  of  persons 
only  incipiently  abnormal  (and  of  normal  persons,  if  normal 
persons  have  them)  can  be  pretty  well  made  out  from  some  of 
Prince's  and  Sidis's  investigations.  They  are  invariably  lim- 
ited and  disintegrated,  and  usually  quite  unimportant  and  un- 
related to  any  purpose  —  sensations,  feelings,  impulses,  uncon- 
nected and  simply  flickering  into  life  and  out  again,  like  the 
light  of  the  fire-fly  in  the  dark.  They  are  seldom  combined 
into  anything  that  can  be  called  a  thought.  They  are  without 
self-consciousness,  and  there  is  "  no  evidence  to  show  that  the 
dissociated  consciousness  is  capable  of  wider  and  more  original 
synthesis  than  is  involved  in  adapting  habitual  acts  to  the  cir- 
cumstances of  the  moment."  "  There  is  no  hard  and  fast  line 
between  the  conscious  and  the  subconscious,  for  at  times  what 
belongs  to  one  passes  into  the  other,  and  vice  versa.  The 
waking  self  is  varying  the  grouping  of  its  thoughts  all  the  time 
in  such  a  way  as  to  be  continually  including  and  excluding  the 
subconscious  thoughts."  The  split-off  states,  except  in  thor- 
oughly pathological  cases  or  in  artificially  produced  abnormal 
conditions,  give  rise  to  no  "  automatisms  "  or  independent  and 
disconnected  actions  and  hallucinations.^^ 

2*  The  substance  of  this  paragraph  and  the  quotations  in  it  are  taken 
from  Prince,  "  Some  of  the  Present  Problems  of  Abnormal  Psychology," 
Psychological  Review,  XII,  135-139.  See  also  Sidis  and  Goodhart,"  Mul- 
tiple Personality,"  passim. 


58  THE  KELiClOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

In  extreme  cases,  such  as  that  of  Miss  Beauchamp  and  B  A 
reported  bv  ^lorton  Prince,  we  have,  indeed,  in  tlie  co-conscious, 
somethinp:  approximating  much  more  closely  to  the  popular  no- 
tion of  the  ''  Subconscious  Self."  Miss  Beauchamp's  third 
alternating  "complex  "  (known  as  "  Sally  ")  not  only  claimed 
to  be  co-conscious  —  and  proved  it  to  the  satisfaction  of  Dr. 
Prince  and  most  of  his  readers  —  but  developed  also  a  very 
definite  character,  which  she  retained  with  consistency  from  her 
first  appearance  until  finally  '^  squeezed."  ^^  She  was,  namely, 
throughout,  a  rather  pert,  interesting,  immature  young  girl, 
differing  noticea-bly  in  tastes  and  manners  from  both  the  other 
personalities,  considerably  inferior  to  both  in  knowledge  and 
intellectual  power,  and  markedly  inferior  to  one  of  them  in  con- 
science and  character.  In  another  of  Dr.  Prince's  cases,  B, 
who  has  given  pretty  conclusive  evidence  of  being  co-conscious 
with  A,2®  maintains,  like  Sally,  a  perfectly  distinct  and  con- 
sistent character  throughout.  She  does  not  resemble  Sally  in 
immaturity,  but  is  decidedly  inferior  to  the  complete  and  normal 
integrated  personality.  It  should  be  added  that  both  these  co- 
conscious  "  personalities  "  have  written  their  autobiographies, 
that  of  B  in  particular  being  highly  intelligent  and  instruc- 
tive.^^ It  is,  to  be  sure,  questionable  whether  either  "  Sally  " 
or  "  B  "  is  as  much  of  a  personality  as  each  claims  to  be.  No 
doubt  they  are  well-developed,  alternating  personalities,  but  it 
is  far  from  clear  that  as  co-conscious  entities  they  have  sufficient 
unity  and  completeness  to  deserve  the  title  personality  or  self. 
My  late  colleague.  Professor  John  E.  Russell,  made  the  sug- 
gestion that  in  the  co-conscious  state  such  "  personalities  "  are 
merely  "  complexes  "  or  groups  of  ideas,  and  that  the  claim 
of  each  to  unbroken  co-conscious  personal  life  is  due  to  an  illu- 

25  See  "The  Dissociation  of  a  Personality,"  (N.  Y.,  Longmans:  1906), 
passim. 

28  See  Prince,  "  Experiments  to  Determine  Co-conscious  Ideation,"  Jour- 
nal of  Abnormal  Psychology,  III,  33-42.  Prince  and  Peterson,  "  Experi- 
ments in  Psycho-galvanic  Reactions  from  Co-conscious  Ideas,"  Ibid.,  Ill, 
114-131.  Three  more  recent  but  less  persuasive  cases  of  seemingly  co-con- 
scious activity  are  reported  by  Dr.  Prince  in  a  paper  on  "  Co-conscious 
Images,"  in  the  Jour,  of  Abnormal  Psy.,  XII  (1017),  289.  See  also  a  criti- 
cism of  their  evidential  value  by  Professor  Chase.     Ibid.,  XIII  (1918),  29-32. 

27  For  Sally's  autobiography  see  "  The  Dissociation  of  a  Personality," 
Chap.  XXIII.  For  B'a  see  "  My  Life  as  a  Dissociated  Personality,"  in  the 
Jour,  of  Abn.  Psy.,  Ill,  314-334. 


KELIGION  AI^D  THE  SUBCONSCIOUS         59 

sion  of  the  memory.^^     However  this  may  be,  it  is  interesting 
to  note  that  '^  Sally ''  and  ^'  B,"  the  only  "  co-conscious  selves  " 
whose  histories  have  been  investigated,  have  originated  out  of 
"  complexes  "  or  groups  of  feelings,  ideas,  and  impulses  within 
the  central  consciousness,  complexes  of  the  same  sort  as  are  to 
be  found  in  any  of  us.     Who  is  there  that  has  not  noted  in  his 
own  experience  how  the  emotion  due  to  some  insult,  slight,  or 
injury  can  gather  to  itself  special  ideas  and  tendencies  and  be- 
come a  little  center  of  relative  independence  within  the  mind  ? 
It  is  in  some  such  general  way  that  a  dissociated  "  personality '' 
originates.     It  does  not  start  as  a  "  subconsciousness."     It  was 
not  there  in  the  beginning  like  the  submerged  two-thirds  of  the 
iceberg,  nor  like  the  bottom  of  the  "  narrow-necked  vessel '' 
which  is  "  not  stopped  by  any  sponge."     It  originates  as  other 
ideas  originate,  and  is  as  much  a  matter  of  the  common  day 
as  they.     There  is  nothing  mysterious  or  supernatural  about  its 
origin  —  unless,  indeed,  disease  be  supernatural.     And  this  is 
true,  not  only  of  its  origin  but  of  its  content  and  its  powers. 
The  co-conscious  ideas,  complexes,  etc.,  that  have  been  investi- 
gated show  little  evidence  of  being  in  any  way  "  higher  "  and 
"  purer  "  than  those  of  the  normal  personality.     It  was  per- 
haps natural  to  suppose  that  the  subconscious  was  wiser  and 
better  than  the  normal  self  —  until  it  had  been  seen.     But  now 
at  length  we  have  two  subconscious  selves  "  flowering "  and 
walking  out  upon  the  scenes  and  writing  their  autobiographies ; 
and  they  turn  out  to  be  nothing  very  wonderfully  wise,  but  just 
B  and  Sally. 

^  I  have  dealt  thus  at  length  with  the  co-conscious  because  it  is 
as  a  co-conscious  that  the  "  subconscious  "  is  usually  interpreted 
by  popular  writers,  preachers,  and  lecturers.  It  is  important 
for  the  serious  student  of  this  subject  not  to  be  misled  by 
glowing  pictures  of  the  "  Undermind,"  but  to  realize  that  the 
co-conscious,  so  far  as  the  evidence  goes,  is  either  non-existent 
or  practically  negligible  in  normal  persons;  while  in  patholog- 
ical subjects,  though  sometimes,  indeed,  the  source  of  valuable 
ideas  and  useful  actions,  it  is  always  limited  and  inferior  to 
the  waking  self,  and  likely  to  be  very  far  from  beautiful  or 

28  This  view  is  also  held  by  Janet. —  See  his  "  L'Automatism  psycholo- 
gique"   (5th  Edition.     Paris,  Alcan:   1907)   p.  336. 


60  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

sublime.  What  I  have  said  of  the  co-conscious,  however,  must 
not  be  taken  as  a  failure  to  recognize  the  immense  importance 
and  tlie  unquestionable  value  in  each  of  us  of  the  ''subcon- 
scious "  in  the  broader  sense.  And  in  this  broader  sense  the 
word  "  subconscious  "  may  still  be  of  use.  If  we  put  together 
under  this  term  all  those  factors  of  ourselves  which  are  not  to 
be  identified  with  the  attentive  consciousness  —  the  physiolog- 
ical, the  fringe,  and  the  co-conscious  in  those  who  possess  it  — 
we  cannot  fail  to  be  impressed  with  the  enormous  influence 
exerted  by  these  upon  our  lives.  I  have  already  spoken  of  the 
importance  of  the  fringe  region  and  I  need  add  nothing  here; 
nor  need  I  point  out  how  our  nervous  systems  unite  us  to  the 
distant  past  of  the  race  and  to  our  own  past,  preserving  for  us 
both  instincts  and  habits,  and  enabling  us  to  utilize  our  mem- 
ories without  distinct  recall  and  thus  apply  our  past  experi- 
ence. If  we  interpret  the  subconscious  as  meaning  both  the 
fringe  and  the  nervous  system,  we  may  say  that  it  is  largely 
this  that  makes  us  what  we  are.  "  The  whole  of  our  past  psy- 
chical life,"  says  Bergson,  "  conditions  our  present  state,  with- 
out being  its  necessary  determinant ;  while  also  it  reveals  itself 
in  our  character."  ^®  It  is  plain,  therefore,  how  important  an 
influence  the  subconscious  in  this  broader  sense  exerts  upon  each 
man's  religion.  To  the  work  of  Starbuck  and  James,  in  par- 
ticular, we  owe  a  great  deal  for  the  insight  they  have  given  us 
in  this  matter.  A  man's  religion  is  not  merely  a  matter  of  his 
clear-cut  conscious  processes :  it  is  bound  up  with  his  whole 
psycho-physical  organism.  Truly,  he  who  loves  God  loves  Him 
with  all  his  heart  and  soul  and  mind  and  strength.  He  loves 
God  not  only  with  his  soul  and  mind,  but  with  his  body  too. 
Our  religion  goes  deeper  down  into  our  lives  than  most  things, 
and  is  knit  up  with  all  that  we  are.  It  springs  out  of  our  con- 
nection with  the  past ;  it  involves  our  individual,  and  even  our 
racial,  history,  it  is  one  aspect  of  what  we  are  and  all  we  hope 
to  be.  This  is  the  truth  at  the  heart  of  much  modem  writing 
about  the  subconscious  and  religion  —  only  in  "  ein  bischen 
andern  Wort  en." 

The  influence  of  the  subconscious  upon  the  religion  of  most 
of  us  is  due  to  our  racial  inheritance  and  our  individual  history. 

29  '*  Mati^re  and  Memoire,"  Chap.  III. 


KELIGION  AND  THE  SUBCONSCIOUS  61 

By  nature  and  heredity  we  come  into  the  world  with  certain  in- 
stincts and  needs  and  ways  of  reacting  which  respond  to  our 
condition  of  dependence  in  such  a  way  as  to  make  most  of  us 
"  Incurably  religious."  Here,  then,  is  one  of  the  "  subcon- 
scious "  roots  of  our  religion.  The  other  root  of  it,  as  I  have 
said,  is  to  be  sought  in  the  particular  environment  and  expe- 
rience of  the  individual.  We  are  born  as  babies  into  a  world  of 
grown  ups,  and  our  parents  and  teachers,  and,  in  fact,  society  as 
a  whole  bring  the  irresistible  might  of  their  combined  influence 
to  bear  upon  our  pigmy  selves  to  make  us  religious.  This  influ- 
ence is  never  outgrown.  Though  in  our  later  reasonings  we  may 
think  we  have  freed  ourselves  from  it,  it  is  present  and  inerad- 
icable in  our  subconsciousness,  influencing  our  conscious  lives  in 
ways  that  we  do  not  recognize.  The  whole  drama  of  our  ma- 
turer  years  is  presented  before  a  background  determined  almost 
entirely  by  our  social  inheritance  and  our  early  experiences. 
Freud  has  recently  shown  how  very  large  a  part  of  the  material 
of  our  dreams  is  made  up  of  childhood  memories  —  memories, 
some  of  which  had  seemed  to  be  quite  forgotten.^^  Sir  Francis 
Galton  years  ago  pointed  out  the  fact  that  even  in  our  waking 
hours  our  minds  are  incredibly  full  of  ideas  to  which  we  pay 
little  or  no  attention,  a  large  part  of  which  are  memories  drawn 
from  childhood  and  youth.^^ 

30  "  Traumdeutung,"  pp.  132-155;  "The  Origin  and  Development  of  Psy- 
cho-Analysis," Am.  Jour,  of  Psy.,  XXI,  pp.  lSl-218.  See  also  Prince,  "  The 
Mechanism  and  Interpretation  of  Dreams,"  Jour,  of  Ahnorm.  Psy.,  V. 
146-150. 

31  After  his  first  successful  introspection  of  the  matter  he  writes: 
"  I  saw  at  once  that  the  brain  was  vastly  more  active  than  I  had  previously 
believed  it  to  be,  and  I  was  perfectly  amazed  at  the  unexpected  width  of 
the  field  of  its  every-day  operations."  Upon  repeating  the  experiment  he 
was  again  amazed  at  the  number  of  ideas  found  in  the  background  or 
ante-room  of  consciousness,  but,  he  adds,  "  my  admiration  at  the  activity 
of  the  mind  was  seriously  diminished  by  another  observation  which  I  then 
made,  namely  that  there  had  been  a  very  great  deal  of  repetition  of 
thought.  The  actors  in  my  mental  stage  were  indeed  very  numerous,  but 
by  no  means  so  numerous  as  I  had  imagined.  They  now  seemed  to  be 
something  like  the  actors  in  theaters,  where  large  processions  are  repre- 
sented, who  march  off  one  side  of  the  stage,  and,  going  round  by  the  back, 
come  on  again  at  the  other."  Upon  careful  investigation  Galton  succeeded 
in  locating  the  origin  of  many  of  these  recurrent  ideas,  and  found,  as  I 
have  said,  that  a  large  proportion  of  them  came  from  the  impressible  years 
of  early  life.  "  Inquiries  into  Human  Faculty."  In  the  "  Everyman " 
Edition  of  Dent  &  Co.,  the  passages  referred  to  above  will  be  found  on  pp. 
134-141. 


62  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS  * 

It  is  not  merely  ideas  and  visual  and  verbal  images  that  fill 
the  baokcToiinds  of  our  minds.  More  important  and  influential 
are  the  moods,  emotions,  impulses  and  prejudices,  the  "  com- 
plexes "  which  have  their  roots  in  some  half-forgotten  past,  and 
twine  themselves  all  through  our  mental  history.  Their  abid- 
ing place  is  in  the  darker  region  of  the  fringe,  or  possibly  in  the 
quite  unconscious  cells  of  the  nervous  system,  but  they  influ- 
ence our  sentiments,  our  creeds,  our  actions,  in  ways  that  might 
surprise  us  were  they  fully  recognized.  Especially  influential 
in  determining  the  background  of  our  lives  are  our  desires  and 
early  ideals.  Freud  has  shown  (with  great  exaggeration,  to 
be  sure)  how  large  a  role  desire  plays  in  forming  our  dreams, 
and  it  is  certain  that  not  only  in  dreams  but  in  our  waking  mo- 
ments desire,  whether  suppressed  or  recognized,  has  a  leading 
part  in  shaping  our  whole  subconscious  or  unconscious  life. 
Thus  it  comes  about  that  the  ideals,  the  longings,  the  ardent 
wishes  of  youth  sink  into  the  subliminal  region  and  constitute 
a  large  part  of  its  ultimate  return  contribution  to  conscious  life. 
Hence  the  ideal  nature  of  much  that  springs  from  the  subliminal 
region  of  lofty  souls.  Hence  also  much  of  the  religious  trend 
that  most  of  us  find  shaping  so  large  a  part  of  our  lives.  The  re- 
ligious ideas,  promptings,  emotions,  and  ways  of  viewing  things, 
impressed  upon  us  during  youth,  or  resulting  naturally  from 
inherited  tendencies,  become  so  ingrained  into  the  very  texture 
of  our  minds  that  we  can  never  get  away  from  them.  They 
tinge  and  influence  our  feelings,  our  opinions,  and  our  total 
reaction  upon  the  world  in  ways  that  we  know  and  in  ways 
that  we  know  not. 

This  is  another  way  of  saying  that  the  subconscious  is  em- 
inently conservative.  And  in  whatever  way  you  interpret  the 
"  subconscious  "  this  remains  true.  The  conservative  nature  of 
the  physiological  is  painfully  evident  to  every  one  who  has 
tried  to  break  a  habit.  And  after  what  has  been  said  on  pre- 
vious pages  of  this  chapter,  nothing  need  be  added  to  show  how 
the  fringe-region  and  the  co-conscious  treasure  up  the  past,  and 
use  it  to  influence  the  present  and  predetermine  the  future. 
This  is  the  ultimate  explanation  of  religious  conservatism. 
Theology,  the  explicit  formulation  of  religious  belief,  usually 


I  KELIGION  AND  THE  SUBCONSCIOUS  63 

lags  behind  science  and  philosophy  because  the  two  latter  make 
sense  perception  and  clear  reason  their  criteria,  whereas  reli- 
gion is  a  matter  of  the  whole  man,  and  is  determined  to  a  very 
great  extent  by  the  racial  and  personal  past,  by  the  ideas  that 
have  become  ingrained  and  are  now  revered,  and  by  the  feeling 
of  profound  respect  for  tradition,  all  of  which,  though  they  are 
at  times  matters  of  attentive  reasoning,  have  their  roots  very 
largely  in  the  background  of  the  mind  or  even  in  the  purely 
habitual  reactions  of  the  nervous  system. 

The  great  source  of  the  content  of  the  subconscious  is,  then,  \' 
the  conscious  —  the  experience  of  the  past,  both  the  race  and 
the  individual  being  taken  into  account.  Is  there  any  other  jj 
source  for  this  content  —  some  supernatural  source,  different 
in  kind  from  that  already  described?  I  do  not  see  that  psy- 
chology can  answer  this  question  with  any  definite  proofs.  It 
will,  of  course,  proceed  on  the  assumption  that  there  is  no  such 
source,  until  the  necessity  of  the  hypothesis  has  been  demon- 
strated. A  superhuman  source  of  revelation,  though  something 
in  which  the  philosopher  may  well  believe,  is  not  something 
which  the  man  of  science  can  ever  verify.  Leaving  aside 
hypotheses  that  involve  the  supernatural,  he  must  seek  —  very 
likely  in  a  plodding  and  prosaic  fashion  —  to  find  out  what 
can  be  done  with  the  natural.  And  in  our  particular  problem 
his  methods  have  not  as  yet  proved  inadequate.  The  prophets 
and  mystics  have,  indeed,  been  greatly  influenced  by  the  sub- 
conscious, but  it  is  far  from  clear  that  there  is  anything  mys- 
terious about  the  ultimate  source  of  this  subconscious  influ- 
ence. The  highest  ideals  of  the  community  or  of  the  nation, 
accepted  with  enthusiasm  and  emotion  by  the  youthful  mind, 
^'  apperceived  "  by  the  great  mass  of  the  man's  instincts  and  in- 
herited impulses,  pondered  over  carefully  and  repeatedly,  and 
allowed  to  continue  their  activity  in  the  fringe  or  in  the  form 
of  unconscious  cerebration  —  these  certainly  go  far  towards 
explaining  so  much  of  the  message  of  each  of  the  prophets  as 
need  be  attributed  to  subconscious  origin.  Nor  does  this  view 
necessarily  exclude  the  possibility  of  divine  influence,  inspira- 
tion, and  communion  with  God :  for  it  is  difficult  to  see  why  God 
should  choose  to  communicate  with  a  split-off  complex  or  a  brain 


64  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

cell  ratlicr  tliaii  with  the  man  himself.  What  is  hi'::hest  in  the 
religious  p^enins  is  to  be  soui^lit  in  his  conscious  states  rather 
than  in  some  form  of  insensihilitv. 

It  has  often  been  sufrp^ested  that  telepathy  is  one  source  of 
the  subconscious,  and  this  is  of  course  quite  possible.  The  evi- 
dence in  favor  of  the  existence  of  telepathy  is  strong,  and  if 
there  really  is  such  a  thing,  the  subconscious  —  however  inter- 
preted —  would  very  likely  be  influenced  by  it.  There  is,  how- 
ever, no  good  reason  for  regarding  the  subconscious  as  the  ex- 
clusive cliannel  of  such  influence.*''-  In  advance  of  empirical 
data  on  the  subject,  telepathy,  if  it  exist,  is  as  likely  to  affect 
one  mind  state  as  another,  and  the  ''  conscious  mind  ^'  seems 
as  likely  to  be  directly  open  to  its  influence  as  the  subconscious. 
And,  of  course,  even  though  it  should  be  proved  that  telepathy 
from  other  minds  is  one  source  of  the  content  of  the  subcon- 
scious, it  would  still  remain  true  (in  default  of  evidence  to  the 
contrary)  that  the  ultimate  source  of  this  content  should  be 
sought  in  the  social  environment  —  that  is,  in  the  past  expe- 
rience, the  ideas,  ideals,  impulses,  and  longings  of  the  race. 

Though  the  ultimate  source  of  the  content  of  the  subconscious 
is  thus  perfectly  natural,  its  influence  upon  the  mind  of  the 
individual  often  makes  itself  felt  in  ways  that  inevitably  seem 
to  him  extremely  mysterious,  and  that  are  consequently  inter- 
preted by  him  and  by  those  who  know  him  as  tokens  of  some 
supernatural  power.  Particularly  is  this  true  in  the  case  of 
those  who  have  a  tendency  toward  abnormality.  The  phenom- 
ena which  I  have  here  in  mind  are  such  things  as  violent  but 
unaccountable  impulses  to  do  certain  things,  fixed  ideas  whose 
source  cannot  be  traced,  "  inspirational  speaking,"  so  far  as  this 
is  not  to  be  accounted  for  by  the  ordinary  laws  of  association, 
motor  automatisms,  visions,  and  the  like.  These  all  bring  with 
them  the  sense  of  external  origination  —  of  being  given  or  im- 
posed from  without.  Now,  this  feeling  is  a  well  recognized 
characteristic  of  the  w^orking  of  the  co-conscious  wherever 
found.  Moreover,  all  the  phenomena  above  referred  to  have 
parallels  in  non-religious  cases,  where  the  explanation  is  plainly 
to  be  had  in  terms  of  a  dissociation  of  consciousness.  The  im- 
pulses and  fixed  ideas  found  in  many  religious  persons  are  not 

32  As,  for  instance,  Myers  does. 


KELIGION  AND  THE  SUBCONSCIOUS  65 

different  psychologically  —  though  they  be  ethically  at  the  anti- 
podes —  from  the  '^  phobias  ''  that  Freud  is  finding  in  the  ^^  un- 
conscious "  and  Sidis  in  the  "  co-conscious."  The  ''  inspira- 
tion "  of  the  prophet,  like  that  of  the  poet  or  of  the  inventor, 
often  seems  to  have  its  immediate  source  in  the  deeper  and  un- 
conscious parts  of  his  being.  Just  how  the  subconscious  acts  in 
these  cases  is  of  course  not  certain, ^^  but  that  there  is  some  sub- 
conscious mechanism  here  at  work,  as  even  in  our  every-day 
search  for  a  forgotten  name,  seems  evident.  The  prophet  pon- 
ders long  over  the  condition  of  his  people,  the  will  of  God,  and 
the  problem  of  his  own  duty.  Then  some  day  suddenly  the 
sought-for  solution  rushes  into  his  mind  —  he  finds  a  message 
ready-made  upon  his  tongue,  and  it  is  almost  inevitable  that  he 
should  preface  it  with  the  words :  "  Thus  hath  Yahweh  showed 
me !  "  As  for  the  extreme  cases  of  religious  visions  and  motor 
automatisms,  one  has  only  to  look  at  a  single  page  of  the  Journal 
of  Abnormal  Psycliology  for  parallels  to  both.^* 

33  How  it  acts  in  some  cases  is  shown  by  one  of  Dr.  Prince's  co-conscious 
subjects.  See  "  Problems  of  Abnormal  Psychology."  Psy.  Rev.  XII,  137- 
138. 

34  Thus  "  B,"  the  co-conscious  personality,  in  her  autobiography  writes : 
"  C  [the  dominant  personality  who  was,  however,  unconscious  of  B]  was 
asked  to  go  for  a  long  automobile  ride  and  dine  in  the  country,  coming  home 
in  the  evening.  I  was  very  anxious  to  go,  but  I  had  promised  Dr.  Prince 
not  to  interfere  with  C.  I  did  not  try  to  "  come "  [i.e.,  to  become  the 
directing  personality],  but  I  could  not  help  wanting  to  go,  and  I  thought 
to  myself,  "O!  I  wish  she  would  go!  "  C.  declined  at  first  as  I  knew 
she  would,  but  as  my  longing  increased  she  began  to  waver,  hesitated, 
and  finally  said  she  would  go.  .  .  .  C.  once  had  a  visual  hallucination  of 
Dr.  Prince,  because  I  was  thinking  of  him.  She  was  thinking  of  entirely 
different  matters,  but  I  was  thinking  that  if  it  were  not  for  Dr.  Prince 
I  might,  perhaps,  stay  all  the  time,  etc.  As  I  was  thinking  all  this,  C 
suddenly  saw  Dr.  Prince  standing  before  her.  He  was  so  real  that  she 
spoke  his  name,  saying:  "Why,  Dr.  Prince!  "  She  was  not  asleep,  but 
was  lying  in  bed  looking  at  the  fire  when  she  had  this  hallucination. 
She  knew  it  was  a  vision,  but  it  was  very  distinct."  ("  An  Analysis  of  Co- 
conscious  Life."  -Jour,  of  Ahnor.  Psy.  Ill,  332.)  Several  cases  in  which 
"  Sally "  influenced  Miss  Beauchamp  in  ways  similar  to  this  are  to  be 
found  in  the  "  Dissociation  of  a  Personality."  I  do  not  mean  by  quoting 
the  above  to  imply  that  all  visions  are  due  to  the  presence  of  a  co-conscious 
personality.  I  moan  simply  to  show  that  the  presence  of  a  dissociated  com- 
plex is  sufficient  to  explain  a  vision  and  that  doubtless  many  religious 
visions  are  due  to  some  such  cause.  Dr.  Prince's  most  famous  patient,  Aliss 
Beauchamp, —  a  deeply  religious  young  woman  —  frequently  had  visions  of 
Christ  and  of  the  Madonna,  all  of  them  explicable  on  the  theory  of  the 


66  THK  IIKLIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

I  would  not  be  understood  by  this  to  imply  that  the  religious 
pcniusos  who  have  been  slip^htly  psychopathic  are  mere  "  psy- 
chopaths." I  have  said,  indeed,  that  dissociation  probably  is 
an  abnormal  state ;  but  this  means  simply  that  it  differs  from 
the  common  Inimnn  condition.  It  does  not  jnean  that  such  dis- 
sociation is  always  an  impediment  to  human  usefulness.  That 
the  ordinary  man  should  be  without  this  characteristic  is  doubt- 
less  best  for  the  race,  just  as  it  is  best  we  should  not  all  be  poets 
or  have  the  '^  artistic  temperament."  But  that  does  not  mean 
that  wo  should  be  better  off  with  no  poets  or  artists.  Dr.  Prince 
seems  to  be  coming  to  the  conclusion  that,  though  the  dissociated 
states  (except  of  a  most  elementary  sort)  are  abnormal,  the 
susceptibility  to  them  under  quite  common  conditions  is  nor- 
mal.^'^  It  may  very  well  be  that  for  certain  purposes  disso- 
ciated mind  states  have  their  special  value;  they  may,  for  in- 
stance, function  more  readily  than  purely  physiological  forma- 
tions, thus  enriching  the  controlling  consciousness  with  more 
possible  ideas  from  which  the  laws  of  association  may  choose, 
or  possibly  endowing  the  psycho-physical  organism  with  more 
immediately  available  force.  The  value  of  such  mental  con- 
ditions,  in  any  event,  must  be  determined  not  by  asking  our- 
selves whether  they  are  usual  or  result  from  usual  physical 
or  psychical  conditions,  but  by  looking  to  the  results  which  they 
achieve.  As  James  puts  it,  the  true  criterion  of  value  is  ex- 
pressed in  the  words,  ''  By  their  fruits  ye  shall  know  them,  not 
by  their  roots."  Now  if  we  examine  the  fruits  of  such  psycho- 
pathic dispositions  we  find  that  they  are  varied.  In  the  great 
majority  of  cases  they  are  bad;  hence  the  emphasis  I  have  put 
on  the  absurdity  of  looking  to  the  "  subconscious  "  as  nobler 
and  purer  than  the  conscious  self.  But  in  the  case  of  some 
noble  but  psychopathic  personalities  the  split-off  states  do  seem 
to  be  of  real  use;  though  even  here,  it  must  be  remembered, 
the  highest  and  noblest  part  of  the  man  is  his  conscious  person- 
ality. Especially  in  the  case  of  many  great  religious  leaders, 
do  we  find  psychopathic  conditions  that  seem  to  have  contrib- 
uted a  good  deal  toward  making  them  the  useful  men  they  were. 

functioning  of  a  subconscious  complex.     ("The  Dissociation  of  a  Person- 
ality." Appendix  L,  pp.  548-550.) 

35  See  "  Problems  of  Abnormal  Psychology."     Pay.  Rev,  XII,  pp.  131  and 
140-143. 


EELIGION  AND  THE  SUBCONSCIOUS  67 

Consider  for  example  Ezekiel,  lloliammed,  George  Fox,  St. 
Paul  —  the  reader  will  be  able  to  add  to  the  list  many  other 
names.  In  these  men  and  women  much  of  the  force  which 
made  them  great  and  useful  seems  to  have  been  connected  with 
their  psychopathic  disposition.     Prof.  James  writes: 

"  In  the  psychopathic  temperament  we  have  the  emotionality 
which  is  the  sine  qua  non  of  moral  perception ;  we  have  the  in- 
tensity and  tendency  to  emphasize  which  are  the  essence  of  prac- 
tical vigor ;  and  we  have  the  love  of  metaphysics  and  mysticism 
which  carry  one's  interests  beyond  the  surface  of  the  sensible 
world.  What,  then,  is  more  natural  than  that  this  tempera- 
ment should  introduce  one  to  regions  of  religious  truth,  to  the 
corners  of  the  universe^  which  your  robust  Philistine  type  of 
nervous  system,  forever  offering  its  biceps  to  be  felt,  thumping 
its  breast,  and  thanking  Heaven  that  it  hasn't  a  single  morbid 
fiber  in  its  composition,  would  be  sure  to  hide  forever  from 
its  self-satisfied  possessor."  ^^ 

In  quoting  thus  from  Professor  James,  however,  I  am  going 
beyond  the  immediate  subject  of  this  chapter,  for  the  psycho- 
pathic state  is  not  synonymous  with  the  dissociated  state,  and 
a  psychopath  with  all  the  advantages  claimed  for  him  in  the 
passage  just  quoted  need  not  possess  a  co-consciousness.  The 
converse  is  certainly  true  —  the  great  majority  of  those  pos- 
sessing dissociated  mind  states  have  none  of  the  superiorities 
set  forth  by  James.  Moreover,  while  some  kind  of  co-con- 
sciousness has  probably  characterized  many  of  the  religious 
leaders  of  the  race,  and  while  they  have  owed  much  of  their 
influence  to  it,  it  still  remains  true,  as  it  seems  to  me  at  least, 
that  such  dissociations  can  be  of  advantage  only  under  special 
and  unusual  conditions ;  and,  I  may  add,  under  conditions  likely 
to  recur  less  often  in  the  future  than  they  occurred  in  the  past. 
Split-off  states  are  never  an  end,  but  are  at  best  a  means  only. 
At  best,  they  are  sources  of  weakness  as  well  as  of  strength. 
The  highest  type  of  man,  in  the  religious  life  as  well  as  else- 
where, is  the  unified  and  rational  self.  For  our  ideal  we  look 
not  so  much  to  Ezekiel  as  to  Amos,  not  so  much  to  Fox  as  to 
Luther,  not  so  much  to  Paul  as  to  Jesus. 

36  "  The  Varieties,"  p.  25. 


CHAPTER  IV 

SOCIETY    AND   THE    INDIVIDUAL 

In  our  first  chaptcT  we  found  ourselves  confronted  with  the 
conflicting  claims  of  the  individualists  and  the  collectivists, 
the  one  party  implying  that  religion  was  essentially  a  matter 
of  the  individual,  the  other  insisting  that  it  is  altogether  a  so- 
cial phenomenon.  And  we  found  reason  to  believe  that  both 
parties  were  wrong  and  that  both  were  right  or  (more  exactly 
perhaps)  that  the  two  views  did  not  disagree  so  fundamentally 
as  the  expressions  of  them  would  indicate.  For,  as  a  matter 
of  fact,  there  is  no  doubt  in  any  one's  mind  that  religion  is 
both  a  social  and  an  individual  matter.  It  is  the  aim  of  this 
chapter  to  work  out  in  a  general  way  the  contributions  made 
to  religion  by  each  of  these  great  sources  of  spiritual  life  — 
society  and  the  individual.^ 

The  question  is  by  no  means  simple.  For  consider:  society 
is  altogether  made  up  of  individuals,  and  all  individuals  are 
the  products  of  society.  We  seem  faced  with  a  *^  circle  "  which 
if  not  "  vicious  "  is  at  least  recalcitrant  and  resists  our  efforts 
to  trace  its  course  —  a  line  with  no  beginning  and  no  end. 
The  circle,  however,  is  not  so  vicious  as  it  seems,  for  the  prob- 
lem may  be  stated  in  terms  that  permit  of  a  definite  answer. 
Let  us  ask  then  first  of  all,  What  is  the  source  of  the  individ- 
ual's religion  ?  The  answer  to  this  question  will  evidently  de- 
pend in  part  on  the  answer  to  the  more  general  question: 
Whence  does  the  individual  get  his  ideas,  his  emotions,  his  de- 
sires, his  motor  tendencies,  his  character  and  disposition  ?  To 
this  question  psychology  answers  without  hesitation :  There 
are  two  sources  for  these  things,  namely  heredity  and  expe- 

1 1  am  aware  of  the  misleading  nature  of  these  terms  when  taken  ab- 
stractly, and  of  the  truth  lurking  behind  Miss  Follett's  equally  misleading 
assertion  that  "there  is  no  individual  and  there  is  no  society"  ("The  New 
State" — New  York,  Longmans:  1918  —  p.  19).  Tlie  words  do  mean  some- 
thing, however,  and  I  trust  my  use  of  them  as  exDlained  below  will  mislead 
no  one. 

68 


SOCIETY  AND  THE  INDIVIDUAL  69 

rience.  If  now  we  return  to  our  first  question  we  may  answer 
it  by  saying  that  the  individual's  religion  has  two  sources, 
namely  the  abilities,  tendencies,  and  disposition  which  he  brings 
with  him  into  the  world,  and  the  experience,  largely  of  a  social 
nature,  which  he  acquires  by  his  intercourse  with  the  world  and 
with  his  fellow  beings. 

Doubtless  there  are  no  "  innate  ideas  " —  religious  or  other ; 
John  Locke  was  right  about  that.  But  the  fact  that  man  is  a 
"  rational  animal "  is  not  to  be  explained  by  any  experience  of 
his,  social  or  non-social.  Rather  is  his  possession  of  reason  the 
condition  of  his  having  experience  of  the  human  sort  at  all. 
Leibniz's  dictum  about  the  intellect  ^  is  here  in  point.  Using 
the  word  in  a  large  sense,  the  intellect,  or  reason,  is  one  of  the 
things  which  the  individual  brings  with  him  into  the  world  and 
with  which  he  meets  and  appropriates  his  social  experience. 
Here  then  is  one  individualistic  factor,  and  an  important  one,  in 
his  religion.  For  be  it  remembered,  religion  is  to  mean  for 
us  not  a  particular  creed  or  set  of  ceremonies, —  not  a  ''  croyance 
obligatoiref  ^ —  but  an  attitude  toward  the  Determiner  of  Des- 
tiny. And  certainly  the  possession  of  intelligence  is  one  of 
the  conditions  of  such  an  attitude. 

But  we  may  go  farther  than  this.  The  individual  brings - 
with  him  into  the  world  (prior  to  any  social  influence)  certain 
innate  tendencies  and  instincts  which  determine  to .  a  consid- 
erable extent  what  his  religious  attitude  shall  be.  And  here  we 
come  upon  the  question  of  the  so-called  "  religious  instinct." 
The  phrase  is  common  enough.  Eeferences  are  made  to  it  not 
only  in  the  pulpit  and  in  popular  literature  but  in  much 
scholarly  writing  also.  But  when  the  question  is  seriously 
raised  of  the  existence  of  such  an  instinct,  most  psychologists 
will  have  no  hesitation  in  answering  it  in  the  negative.  To  be 
sure,  psychologists  are  not  fully  agreed  as  to  the  exact  number 
of  human  instincts,  nor  as  to  the  details  of  the  definition  of  the 
term;  but  in  spite  of  many  disagreements  there  is  pretty  com- 
plete unanimity  among  them  in  denying  the  existence  of  a 
'^  religious  instinct."  ^     In  general  it  may  be  said  that  an  in- 

2  '*  Nothing  in  the  intellect  that  was  not  first  in  the  senses  except  the 
intellect  itself." 

3  One  of  Durkheim's  definitions.     See  Chapter  T,  p.   11,  of  this  book. 
*The  unanimity  is  not  absolute.     Professor  Morris  Jastrow  writes  as  if 


70  THE  KELUilOUfc;  CUNSCIOUSNESS 

stinct  is  an  inlicritcd  tondoncy  to  act  and  ivo\  in  a  specific  and 
characteristic  fasliion  upon  the  percepticrti  of  a  specific  stinuilus. 
Now  if  this  very  general  delinition  be  so  stretched  and  inter- 
preted as  to  make  religion  instinctive  it  will  become  so  general 
as  to  lose  all  special  meaning  and  hence  all  psychological  use- 
fulness. If  religion  be  an  instinct,  then  it  will  be  hard  to  name 
any  common  human  way  of  thinking  or  feeling  which  is  not  in- 
stinctive, and  our  good  psychological  term  (like  so  many  others) 
by  being  used  to  mean  everything  will  cease  to  mean  anything. 
Certainly  the  tendency  of  psychologists  to-day  to  narrow  rather 
than  to  broaden  their  terms  is  not  only  justified  but  absolutely 
essential  to  the  perfection  of  a  truly  scientific  psychology. 
And  there  can  be  little  question  that  we  shall  do  well  to  limit 

the  existence  of  a  religious  instinct  were  almost  axiomatic.  ("The  Study 
of  Religion,"  Now  York,  Scribners:  1902,  pp.  101,  153.)  Mr.  Henry 
Rutgers  Marshall  has  long  maintained  that  religion  is  instinctive,  or  is  at 
least  an  instinct  in  the  making.  ('*  Instinct  and  Reason,"  New  York:  Mac- 
millan:  1898,  Chap.  IX.)  More  recently  Professor  Starbuck  has  advanced 
a  similar  view.  The  original  and  instinctive  religious  element  has,  he 
tells  us,  two  phases  which  he  calls  the  *'  cosmo-oestht'tic  sense  "  and  the 
**  teleo-aesthetic  sense."  These  two  together  form  the  ultimate  religious 
element  of  human  nature  which  he  describes,  in  its  most  primitive  form, 
as  "  a  delicate  sense  of  proportion  or  relation  or  fitness  or  harmony  that 
directs  consciousness  and  determines  at  each  point  the  particular  advan- 
tageous response  or  emphasis."  ("The  Instinctive  Basis  of  Religion,"  a 
paper  read  before  the  Nineteenth  Annual  Meeting  of  the  American  Psycho- 
logical Association  in  1910,  and  reported  in  brief  in  the  Psychological  Bul- 
letin, VIII,  52-53.)  See,  however,  his  paper  on  "The  Child  Mind  and 
Child  Religion,"  in  the  Biblical  World,  XXX,  191-201,  for  September, 
1907,  in  which  he  gives  a  view  of  the  subject,  approaching  more  nearly 
that  presented  in  this  book.  Professor  Hocking  seems  to  hold  a  position 
somewhat  similar  to  that  expressed  by  Starbuck  in  1910,  insisting  that 
"  there  must  be  a  distinct  place  in  the  economy  of  life  for  the  cult  of  the 
Absolute  in  its  contrast  with  life,  and  if  religion  is  the  name  of  this  place 
the  instincti\e  motive  of  religion  would  be  a  specific  craving  due  to  the 
atrophy  of  social  and  .fsthotic  values,  a  craving  for  restoration  of  creative 
power."  ("Human  Nature  and  Its  Remaking": — Yale  University,  1918, 
p.  331  note.)  At  the  same  meeting  of  the  Psychological  Association  at  which 
Starbuck's  paper  was  read  Dr.  King  ])resented  a  paper  on  "  The  Question 
of  an  Ultimate  Religious  Element  in  Human  Nature"  {Psychological  Bulle- 
tin, VIII,  51-52)  in  which  the  purely  social  origin  of  the  religious  senti- 
ment was  maintained.  Neither  of  these  views  appears  to  me  satisfactory, 
for  reasons  which  I  trust  have  been  made  clear  in  the  text.  The  true  j 
explanation  of  the  religious  sentiment  must  be  sought  in  a  combination  of 
instincts  which  originally  are  too  simple  to  be  called  religious.  Religion 
would  thus  have  an  instinctive  basis  without  our  having  to  postulate  any 
religious  instinct. 


SOCIETY  A:N'D  the  individual  71 

the  term  instinct  (in  the  case  of  man)  to  something  like  the 
dozen  innate  and  specific  tendencies  worked  out  so  carefully 
by  McDougal,^  or  to  the  sixteen  given  by  James,^  or  the  twenty 
or  more  suggested  by  Hocking ;  "^  if  we  go  beyond  that  number 
it  should  be  by  a  process  of  analysis  such  as  that  of  Thorn- 
dike  ^  rather  than  by  widening  the  field  of  instinct  and  thus 
making  the  term  quite  indefinite. 

There  is,  then,  no  specific  "  religious  instinct."  Yet  there 
is  a  real  truth  behind  the  phrase.  None  of  man's  religious  acts 
and  feelings  are  instinctive  in  the  sense  in  which  anger  and 
love  are ;  and  yet  we  may  say  that  given  a  being  endowed  with 
intelligence  and  with  the  dozen  or  more  specific  instincts  and 
tendencies  of  man,  such  a  being  is  bound  to  be  religious,  at 
least  potentially,  or  incipiently,  in  the  sense  of  our  definition. 
He  is  bound,  that  is  to  say,  to  possess  at  least  the  possibility 
or  the  beginning  of  some  kind  of  conscious  attitude  toward  the 
Determiner  of  Destiny.  And  be  it  noted  that  the  character  of 
this  attitude  will  be  largely  determined  for  man  by  his  in- 
stincts —  by  the  specific  inborn  tendencies  which  he,  the  indi- 
vidual, brings  with  him  into  the  world.  Some  of  these  instincts 
(and  their  correlative  emotions)  are  more  important  for  the 
religious  attitude  than  others.  Thus  fear  has  from  very  early 
times  been  recognized  as  one  of  the  constituents  of  religion,^  and 
among  contemporary  writers  Ribot,^^  Leuba,^^  and  McDougal,^^ 
have  emphasized  its  importance.  Eear,  however,  is  not  the  only 
instinct  that  affects  the  religious  attitude.  Ribot  recognizes 
"  the  tender  emotion  "  as  equally  important,^^  and  both  Leuba,^* 

5  "Social  Psychology"  (Eleventh  Ed.,  Boston,  Luce  &  Co.:  1916),  Chap- 
ters 2  and  3. 

6  "Principles  of  Psychology"  (New  York,  Holt:   1896),  Vol.  II,  Chapter 
24. 

7  "  Human  Nature  and  Its  Remaking,"  Chap.  IX. 

8  "The  Original  Nature  of  Man"  (Columbia  University:  1913),  II,  V-X. 

9  Cf.  the  oft-quoted  line  of  Petronius,  "  Primus  in  orbis  timor  fecit  deos." 
10 "  La   Psychologic   des   Sentiments"    (Paris,   Alcan:    1897),   Deuxieme 

Partie,  Chap.  9,  esp.  pp.  311-312,  and  317. 

11  "  Fear,  Awe,  and  the  Sublime  in  Religion."     Am.  Jour,  of  Religious 
Psychology,  II,  1-13;  "A  Psychological  Study  of  Religion,"  Chap.  VII. 

12  "  Social  Psychology,"  Chap.  13. 

13  Op.  cit.,  pp.  311,  317. 

i*Leuba  defines  awe  as  "arrested  fear  in  the  presence  of  objects  whose 
greatness  is  apprehended."     Op.  cit.  p.  15. 


72  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

and  !McI)uugal  either  add  awe  to  fear,  or  admit  fear  only  under 
the  form  of  awe.  According  to  McDougal's  analysis,  the  re- 
ligious emotions  are  ultimately  based  upon  the  instinctive  emo- 
tions of  wonder,  negative  self-feeling,  fear,  tender  emotion,  and 
curiosity.  Dr.  Wright  would  add  to  these  the  gregarious,  re- 
productive, and  food-seoking  instincts;  '^  Mr.  A.  S.  Wood- 
bume  would  make  still  another  addition  —  namely  an  instinc- 
tive effort  at  self-preservation ;  ^^  in  a  highly  developed  religion, 
in  fact  nearly  all  the  instincts  may  be  involved. 

Whatever  the  exact  list  of  man's  instincts,  and  whatever  the 
innate  emotions  on  which  his  religious  life  is  ultimately  based, 
certain  it  is  that  his  inborn  tendencies  and  needs  when  com- 
bined with  the  power  of  thought  and  the  will  to  think  are  quite 
enough  to  account  for  some  kind  of  religious  attitude  or  senti- 
ment, even  aside  from  the  influence  of  society  upon  him.  And 
it  must  be  remembered  further  that  the  very  fact  that  society 
is  able  to  influence  him  is  itself  based  upon  an  innate  charac- 
teristic of  the  individual  —  namely  his  ability  to  be  influenced. 
Sensitiveness  to  social  influence,  suggestibility,  s^Tupathy,  and 
the  power  of  imitation  are  among  the  inborn  tendencies  which 
the  human  being  brings  into  the  world  with  him  —  he  does  not 
acquire  them  from  society.  If  society  molds  the  individual  it  is 
because  the  individual  human  being  (unlike  the  animal)  is  capa- 
ble of  being  molded  by  society.  This  is  of  course  a  redundant 
assertion,  but  it  is  one  that  is  worth  making  none  the  less. 

The  rise  of  religious  ideas  and  feelings  in  the  individual 
without  the  intervention  of  social  influence  is  illustrated  in  the 
cases  of  two  deaf  mutes,  Mr.  Ballard  and  Mr.  D'Estrella,  each 
of  whom  has  given  an  account  of  his  earliest  religious  notions 
and  of  the  way  in  which  they  originated. ^^  The  former,  in- 
deed, never  came  to  any  conclusion  which  satisfied  him  until  he 
entered  the  school  for  the  deaf  and  learned  the  theology  of  his 
teachers,  but  his  restless  search  for  an  answer  to  the  question, 

15  "Instinct  and  Sentiment  in  Religion"   {Phil.  Rev.,  XXV.  1916,  p.  34). 

i«"The  Relation  of  Religion  to  Instinct"  (Am.  Jour,  of  TheoL,  XXIII, 
1919,  319-44.) 

17  Mr.  D'Estrella's  account  is  reported  in  an  article  entitled  "  Is  Tliought 
Possible  without  Language  "  by  Samuel  Porter,  in  the  Princeton  Review 
for  January,  1881  (pp.  104-128).  For  Mr.  Ballard's  story  see  James, 
"Thought  Before  Language,"  Phil.  Rev.,  I,  615. 


SOCIETY  AIS^D  THE  INDIVIDUAL  Y3 

"  How  came  the  world  into  being  ? "  which  he  was  constantly 
asking  himself,  is  sufficiently  significant.  The  orderly  motion 
of  the  heavenly  bodies  and  the  shock  of  a  thunder  storm  were 
the  first  things  to  suggest  this  question  to  him.  Mr.  D'Estrella 
was  more  successful  in  his  lonely  search.  Quite  early  he  came 
to  the  conclusion  that  the  moon  was  alive  and  was  somehow 
related  to  his  moral  life,  while  the  sun  he  regarded  as  a  ball 
of  fire  which  some  "  great  and  strong  man,  somehow  hiding 
himself  behind  the  hills,"  tossed  up  every  morning  and  caught 
every  evening  for  his  own  amusement.  The  idea  of  this  "  great 
and  strong  man  '^  also  explained  for  him  the  lighting  of  the 
stars  and  many  other  natural  phenomena. 
^-  But  if  a  deaf  mute,  of  average  mentality,  can  develop  for 
himself  some  sort  of  religious  view,  w  fortiori  can  the  religious 
genius,  taking  the  materials  which  society  furnishes,  work  them 
over  into  new  forms,  put  upon  them  his  personal  impress,  and 
adding  his  o^\ti  intuitions  give  back  to  society  points  of  view, 
concepts,  and  plans  of  action  which  it  never  had  before  and 
which  it  never  would  have  attained  to  but  for  him  or  for  some 
one  like  him.  Taine's  absurdity  of  discounting  the  individual 
is  not  often  repeated  in  its  extreme  form  to-day;  but  our  pres- 
ent popular  emphasis  on  the  "  social  aspect "  of  pretty  much 
everything  is  somewhat  in  danger  of  making  us  overlook  or  for- 
get the  tremendous  importance  of  the  individual's  contributions, 
particularly  in  art,  morality,  and  religion.  Truly  poetry  is  in 
one  sense  a  social  product;  yet  if  Chaucer,  Shakespeare,  and 
Milton  had  died  in  their  cradles,  English  Literature  would  be 
much  less  worth  the  reading.  And  while  religion  is  "  a  social 
phenomenon,"  its  actual  historical  course  would  be  very  con- 
siderably modified  if  we  could  go  back  and  take  out  of  it  simply 
these  five  men:  Zarathustra,  Buddha,  Amos,  Jesus,  and  Mo- 
hammed. 

But  it  is  not  merely  the  prophet  or  religious  genius  to  whom 
religion  is  indebted  and  on  whom  it  depends.  We  too  easily 
overlook  the  fact  that  even  the  most  ^'  social  "  of  ideas  are  the 
products  of  cooperation  between  many  individual  minds,  each  of 
which  has  thus  contributed  its  mite  to  society. ^^     And  while 

18  Cf.  Miss  Follett's  insistence  that  "  interpenetration  "  (i.  e.,  intelligent 
cooperation)  is  a  much  more  important  social  process  than  imitation. — 
•'  The  New  State,"  Part  I. 


74  THE  KELiCiiOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

from  one  point  of  view  it  la  iinquostionablc  that  the  content  of 
religion  is  a  social  matter,  if  religion  is  to  live  it  must  be  not 
only  aece})te{l  but  realized  and  reborn  in  the  hearts  and  lives 
of  the  individual  members  of  each  new  generation.  It  is  not 
only  man  but  religion  also  that  must  he  horn  again;  and  bom 
again  it  is  with  each  person  who  takes  up  a  serious  and  reverent 
attitude  toward  Destiny.  It  is  this  that  makes  it  a  matter  not 
only  of  sociological  but  of  psychological  interest.  And  no 
prophet  or  God's  messenger  can  bring  to  religion  this  living 
realization  for  any  other  soul.  Each  one  of  us  must  do  it  for 
himself. 

Thus  the  inborn  nature  of  the  individual  determines  what 
might  be  called  the  form  of  his  religious  life.  The  matter  is 
chiefly  the  contribution  of  society. -^^  The  particular  content  of 
each  man's  religion,  the  cognitive  aspect  of  his  religious  senti- 
ment,'*^ his  ideas  and  activities,  together  with  the  sense  of  au- 

iB  It  is  here  that  the  question  of  individualism  versus  ecclesiasticism 
centers.  The  discussion  of  this  has  ])een  endless  but  the  reader  will  find 
an  instructive  and  interesting  example  of  it  in  pages  28-31  of  James's 
"  Varieties,"  and  Chapter  I  of  Stanton  Coit's  "  National  Idealism  and  a 
State  Church"  (London,  Williams  and  Xorgate:  1907).  Dr.  Coit  ex- 
aggerates James's  individualism  and  seems  also  to  make  the  mistake  of  at- 
tributing to  ecclesiastical  institutions  all  that  really  belongs  to  social  in- 
fluence in  general;  yet  he  has  done  well  in  insisting  upon  the  social  roots 
of  much  that  James  is  satisfied  in  tracing  only  to  the  individual.  An  at- 
tack upon  the  individualist  view  of  religion  somewhat  similar  to  that 
made  by  Dr.  Coit  is  to  be  found  in  Wundt's  "  Volkerpsychologie."  Re- 
ligion, according  to  Wundt,  can  be  understood  only  by  studying  its  origin 
in  primitive  society,  and  a  method  such  as  that  of  James  which  trusts 
to  individual  cases,  quite  out  of  their  setting  and  taken  unsystematically, 
is  hardly  superior  to  the  unscientific  abstractions  of  the  18th  Century  en- 
lightenment. Religion  is  therefore  not  a  problem  for  individual  psychology 
but  for  Volkerpsychologie.  See  pp.  720-34  of  the  "  Zweiter  Band,  Dritter 
Tell"  (really  Vol.  V)  of  the  "Volkerpsychologie"  (Leipzig,  Engelman: 
1900).  It  is  needless  for  me  to  add  that  while  recognizing  the  pertinence 
of  Wundt's  criticism  upon  the  merely  individualistic  study  of  religion,  I 
cannot  agree  with  him  that  our  study  should  be  merely  social. 

20  I  use  the  word  "  sentiment  "  here  as  practically  synonymous  with  "  atti- 
tude." Strictly  speaking,  a  sentiment  is  a  relatively  permanent  tendency 
to  emotion  and  action  crystallized  about  some  central  idea.  See  the  excel- 
lent discussions  of  Sentiment  by  Shand  {Mind,  New  Series  V,  203-226),  and 
McDougal  ("Social  Psychology,"  Chap.  5).  These  psychologists  have 
pointed  out  how  a  large  number  of  varied  and  even  opposing  instincts  and 
emotions  may  be  united  within  one  sentiment  or  group  of  potential  emo- 
tions. The  religious  sentiment  thus  includes  at  once  in  potential  form 
all  those  ways  of  feeling  and  acting  which  the  thought  of  the  Determiner 
of  Destiny  may,  at  different  times  and  in  various  circumstances,  arouse. 


SOCIETY  A^T>  THE  INDIVIDUAL  75 

thority  which  gives  them  their  peculiar  tone,  will  be  deterrained 
for  him  almost  entirely  by  his  social  milieu.^-^  Not  entirely; 
for  his  reason  and  his  native  tendencies  largely  determine  his 
selection  of  content,  and  also  may  contribute  their  share  toward 
the  formation  of  new  ideas  in  his  group.  To  put  it  in  another 
way,  the  application  which  the  individual  shall  make  of  his  in- 
stincts, so  far  as  they  enter  into  his  religion,  is  directed  chiefly 
by  his  fellows.  He  can  fear,  but  he  must  learn  from  society 
what  to  fear ;  he  can  love,  but  he  must  learn  what  to  love ;  he 
can  think,  but  he  must  learn  what  to  think.  Conceivably,  in- 
deed^ he  might  stand  alone  on  his  coral  island  or  his  mountain 
peak,  as  Max  Miiller  pictures  him,  and  if  so  he  might  no  doubt 
have  some  kind  of  conscious  attitude  toward  the  powers  that 
seemed  to  determine  his  welfare.  He  might  even  form  for  him- 
self the  image  of  a  great  man  tossing  the  sun  up  every  morning 
and  catching  it  at  night,  as  Mr.  D'Estrella,  the  deaf-mute,  actu- 
ally did.  But  his  ideas,  feelings,  and  reactions  would  be  very 
different  from  those  of  men  in  touch  with  their  fellows.  It  is 
not  likely  you  would  find  him  "  perceiving  the  Infinite."  The 
Infinite  is  a  concept  that  is  worked  out  actually  through  social 
intercourse.  And  whatever  the  hypothetical  lowly  savage  might 
think  or  feel,  the  important  thing  for  the  student  of  religion  to 
investigate  is  what  actual  men  as  a  fact  do  think  and  feel  in  their 
religious  moments,  and  how  it  is  they  come  to  think  and  feel  as 
they  do.  And  the  answer  to  these  questions  is  to  be  found  only 
in  social  terms.  Keligion  in  the  only  forms  in  which  we  know 
anything  about  it,  is  the  religion  of  men  bom  and  brought  up 
among  their  fellows  and  forming  a  constitutent  part  of  some 
human  group.  And  once  we  have  recognized  the  original  psy- 
chical endowment  of  the  individual,  the  influence  of  society  in 
making  him  what  he  is  can  hardly  be  exaggerated.  If  we  may 
trust  Professor  Boas,^^  and  most  other  anthropologists  for  that 

21  This  fact  that  the  content  of  religion  is  a  social  product  explains  to  a 
great  extent  the  tendency  of  those  who  study  religion  from  the  historical 
point  of  view  to  minimize  the  contribution  of  the  individual.  History, 
development,  is  a  matter  of  changing  content,  and  the  content  of  a  religion 
is  always  social  in  its  bearings.  Individualism  has  no  history.  The  his- 
torian's interest  even  in  the  most  individualistic  of  the  prophets  is  centered 
chiefly  in  discovering  thie  social  origin  of  some  of  his  ideas,  or  in  tracing 
his  influence  upon  society. 

22  See,  e.g.,  "The  Mind  of  Primitive  Man"  (New  York;  Macmillan: 
1911). 


76  THE  EELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

matter,  neither  primitive  man  nor  the  present-day  savage  differs 
radicallv  in  mental  endo\vments  and  powers  from  members  of 
the  most  highly  civilized  races.  The  enormons  chasm  which 
separates  the  Australian  or  the  cave-man  from  the  Twentieth 
Century  European  is  very  largely  a  matter  of  social  heredity. 
The  Christian  theologian  and  the  Siberian  Shaman  have  dif- 
ferent religions  not  because  of  different  individual  endowments 
but  because  of  different  social  surroundings.^^ 

Society  is  able  to  have  this  enormous  influence  upon  the  in- 
dividual because  it  not  only  instructs  him  but  to  some  extent 
genuinely  constitutes  him.  Cooley  expresses  very  well  the  great 
trend  of  contemporary  thought  upon  this  subject  when  he 
writes :  "  A  separate  individual  is  an  abstraction  unknown  to 
experience,  and  so  likewise  is  society  when  regarded  as  some- 
thing apart  from  individuals.  The  real  thing  is  Human  Life, 
which  may  be  considered  either  in  an  individual  aspect  or  in 
a  social,  that  is  to  say  a  general,  aspect ;  but  is  always,  as  a 
matter  of  fact,  both  individual  and  general."  ^^  Baldwin  ^^ 
and  Royce  ^^  have  shown  in  great  detail  how  self  consciousness 

23  Not  only  does  society  furnish  the  individual  with  his  theological  be- 
liefs; these  theological  beliefs  are  largely  detcrinined  by  the  structure  of 
society.  The  supernatural  world  of  most  religions  has  been  modelled  to  a 
considerable  extent  upon  the  social  and  political  institutions  familiar  to 
the  believers.  See  Durkheim,  *'  Elementary  Forms  of  the  Religious  Life  " 
passim;  Cornford,  "  From  Religion  to  Philosophy  "  (New  York;  Longmans: 
1912)  passim;  King,  "The  Development  of  Religion,"  Chaps.  IV,  V,  IX,  X. 
These  authors  express  the  view  in  question  in  an  extreme,  not  to  say  an 
exaggerated  form ;  but  there  can  be  no  doubt  that  the  influence  of  social 
structure  upon  the  content  of  religious  belief  is  considerable. 

24 "  Human  Nature  and  the  Social  Order"  (New  York,  Scribners: 
1902)  p.  1. 

25  "Mental  Development"  (Third  Ed.,  New  York,  Macmillan;  1906), 
319-324;  "Social  and  Ethical  Interpretations"  (Fourth  Ed.,  New  York, 
Macmillan:  190G),  Chap.  I;  "The  Individual  and  Society"  (Boston,  Bad- 
ger:   1911),  Chap.  I. 

26  "The  External  World,"  Phil.  Rev.,  Ill,  513-545;  "Some  Observations 
on  the  Anomalies  of  Self-Consciousness,"  in  "  Studies  of  Good  and  Evil  " 
(New  York,  Appleton:  1898),  169-197.  What  we  may  call  the  social  view 
of  the  self  has  been  admirably  summarized  by  Prof.  Robert  MacDougal 
thus:  "The  self  of  psychology  is  historically  and  socially  conditioned. 
From  the  outset  its  milieu  is  a  spiritual  community.  It  can  neither  exist 
nor  be  developed  apart  from  the  vital  protoplasm  of  human  association  .  .  . 
It  [the  self]  is  thought  in  terms  of  certain  possessions  and  ideal  aims,  of 
characteristic  attitudes  and  reactions,  of  relations  with  the  objective  world 
and  their  modifications.     In   chief  part  these  are  interpersonal  relations 


SOCIETY  AE^D  THE  INDIVIDUAL  77 

and  consciousness  of  physical  nature  is  conditioned  upon  social 
intercourse.  In  short  each  one  of  us  is  what  he  is  in  virtue  of 
his  relations  to  his  fellows.  His  place  in  the  social  net-work 
is  a  genuine  part  of  him. 

-/'The  process  by  which  the  individual  takes  on  the  impress  of 
society  is  generally  known  as  imitation,  although  it  might  be 
serviceable  to  reserve  that  term,  as  McDougal  suggests,  for  the 
active  part  only  of  the  total  process,  using  the  words  suggesti- 
bility and  sympathy  for  the  cognitive  and  emotional  portions. 
Taking  the  word  imitation  in  the  wider  and  commoner  sense,  we 
may  then  say  that  it  is  in  part  this  ability  to  think  or  believe 
something,  to  feel  somehow,  and  to  act  in  some  way  not 
prompted  by  instinct  but  merely  by  observing  others  do  it,  that 
differentiates  human  society  from  animal  "  companies."  ^"^ 
Animals  seem  to  ^'  imitate  "  only  those  activities  which  are  al- 
ready instinctive  to  them:  human  beings  can  and  do  imitate 
actions  of  other  human  beings  —  or  even  of  animals  —  in  which 
they  are  interested  but  for  which  they  possess  no  specific  in- 
stinct.^^  Imitation,  however,  must  not  be  considered  itself  an 
instinct.  Insofar  as  it  is  something  more  than  the  social  insti- 
gation of  some  of  the  specific  instincts,  or  something  different 
from  deliberate  and  volitional  copying,  it  is  explicable  by  the 
general  laws  of  primitive  credulity,  dynamogenesis,  and  ideo 
motor  action. 

.  .  .  These  active  programs  and  permanent  sources  of  stimulation  are  not 
properly  things  which  the  self  possess;  they  are  the  very  tissue  of  its 
living  body."  "The  Social  Basis  of  Individuality,"  Am.  Jour,  of  Sociology, 
XVIII,  12.  While  the  truth  in  what  may  be  called  the  social  view  of  the 
individual  as  thus  stated  is  both  unquestionable  and  of  fundamental  im- 
portance, one  should  be  on  one's  guard  against  the  exaggeration  of  this 
truth  which  many  of  its  upholders  often  fall  into.  Society,  it  must  be 
reemmbered,  does  not  constitute  the  individual  in  the  same  sense  nor  to  the 
same  degree  that  individuals  constitute  society.  A  needed  corrective  to  the 
extreme  "  social "  view  is  to  be  found  in  Fito,  "  The  Exaggeration  of  the 
Social"  {Journal  of  Philosophy,  IV,  393).  "Individualism"  (New  York, 
Longmans:  1911);  and  Sellars,  "Critical  Realism"  (Chicago,  Rand  Mc- 
Nally:   1916),  pp.  172-75. 

27  Baldwin's  term,  adopted  from  Tonnies  and  Durkheim.  See  "  Social  and 
Ethical  Interpretations,"  pp.  503,  524-26. 

28  This  view  of  human  imitation  is  not  universally  accepted.  For  argu- 
ments against  it  see  Thorndike,  "  Animal  Intelligence  "  (New  York,  Mac- 
millan:  1911;  p.  250ff),  and  Wallas,  "The  Great  Society"  (New  York, 
Macmillan:  1914),  pp.  121-24. 


78  THE  KKLKilOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

Sociologists  of  tlio  Tarde  school  make  a  somewhat  useful  dis- 
tinction between  two  kinds  of  imitation,  according  as  it  tends  tp 
preserve  an  old  custom  or  to  establish  a  new  one.  These  they 
call  respectively  custom  or  tradition,  and  convention  or  fash- 
ion.-^ The  two  of  course  overlap  and  are  not  always  separable, 
but  the  distinction  is  practically  helpful,  and  the  influence  of 
both  kinds  of  imitation  can  be  seen  very  plainly  in  religion. 
And  here  the  stronger  of  the  two  is,  of  course,  tradition.  The 
reason  for  this  is  not  far  to  seek.  It  is  to  be  found  in  the  pro- 
longation of  human  infancy  and  childhood  and  in  the  fact  that 
the  generations  over-lap.  The  individual  is  born  into  the  world 
in  a  perfectly  helpless  condition,  with  a  mind  which  is  both  en- 
tirely empty  and  exceedingly  impressionable,  and  he  finds  him- 
self in  a  society  of  older  persons  all  of  whom,  in  religious  mat- 
ters, think,  feel,  and  act  ]>retty  much  alike.  It  seems  as  if  the 
adult  world  had  entered  into  a  conspiracy  against  the  tender 
infant  mind,  to  force  it  into  the  old  approved  social  grooves. 
And  indeed  it  has.  The  conspiracy,  in  fact,  is  both  implicit  and 
explicit.  The  child  finds  all  its  w^orld  worshiping  and  believ- 
ing in  practically  the  same  ways,  and  hence  inevitably  imitates 
these  ways ;  and  not  only  so,  but  when  he  reaches  a  teachable  age 
all  the  forces  of  home  and  school  and  church  (or  whatever  cor- 
responds to  these  in  lower  forms  of  society)  are  deliberately 
brought  to  bear  upon  him  to  make  him  like  every  one  else.^^ 
The  torch  of  custom  is  forced  into  his  hand  and  he  is  compelled 
to  carry  it  and  pass  it  on  but  slightly  changed  to  the  next  gen- 
eration.    Thus  the  religious  feelings,  ideas,  and  w^ays  of  acting 

29  See  especially  Tarde.  "The  Laws  of  Imitation"  (Eng.  Trans.;  New 
York,  Holt:  1903);  and  Ross,  ''Social  Psychology"  (New  York,  Mac- 
millan:    1909). 

30  The  preservation  of  something  like  the  Puritan  attitude  toward  the 
Sabbath  and  the  Church  or  "  Meeting-house  "  is  an  excellent  example,  and 
in  it  we  see  the  process  of  religious  conservatism  in  a  rather  interesting 
and  striking  form.  I  say  this  because  here  wo  have  an  extreme  case  of  the 
deliberate  inculcation  of  a  religious  view.  No  matter  how  the  parent  has 
come  to  feel  about  Church  and  the  ob.servance  of  Sunday,  he  is  pretty 
likely  to  bring  up  his  child  with  something  like  the  same  respect  for  them 
that  he  himself  was  brought  up  to  have.  Thus  it  often  happens  that  when 
the  children  begin  to  grow  out  of  infancy  the  father  takes  a  new  interest 
in  church  attendance  and  is  suddenly  careful  to  remember  the  Sabbath  day, 
in  order  to  "give  a  good  example  to  the  children."  The  fact  is  we  are 
careful  to  instill  into  our  children,  not  so  much  our  own  feelings,  but  the 
feelings  we  think  we  ought  to  have  and  want  them  to  have. 


SOCIETY  A:N^D  the  individual  79 

which  the  social  group  has  been  centuries  in  evolving  are  as- 
similated by  the  individual  in  a  few  years ;  and  in  such  thorough 
fashion  is  the  work  done  that  his  acquisitions  of  this  sort  deserve 
the  name  ^'  social  heredity/'  they  being  comparable  often,  in 
the  hold  they  have  over  him,  to  those  products  of  physical  her- 
edity which  he  brought  into  the  world  with  him. 

In  our  last  chapter  we  saw  how  this  impression  made  by 
society  upon  the  child  accounted  for  the  marked  conservative 
tendencies  of  religion.  Modes  of  feeling,  thinking,  and  acting 
in  religious  matters  are  ingrained  by  one  generation  into  the 
mental  fringe  or  background  (possibly  even  into  the  nervous 
system)  of  the  next,  so  that  they  become  ''  secondarily  auto- 
matic." These  habitual  reactions  are  learned  as  things  to  he 
revered.  Their  sacredness  is  their  most  striking  characteristic, 
so  that  one  learns  to  reverence  them  in  the  very  act  of  learning 
them  at  all.  Sacred  is  what  these  traditions  are,  and  one  does 
not  know  them  until  he  recognizes  them  as  things  to  be  main- 
tained and  scrupulously  observed.  It  must  be  noted,  moreover, 
that  the  distinction  between  the  sacred  and  the  profane  is  es- 
sentially a  social  distinction.  The  sacred  is  that  which  society 
protects  and  isolates  by  its  interdiction;  the  profane  or  secular 
is  that  "  to  which  these  interdictions  are  applied  and  which 
must  remain  at  a  distance  from  the  first."  ^^  As  was  pointed 
out  in  our  first  chapter,  Durkheim  even  goes  so  far  as  to  erect 
this  distinction  into  the  essential  characteristic  of  religion  and 
to  insist,  also,  as  a  consequence,  that  Society  from  whose  sanc- 
tion the  sacred  takes  its  rise  is  itself  our  real  object  of  worship 
and  of  religious  faith.  "  In  a  general  way  it  is  unquestionable 
that  a  society  has  all  that  is  necessary  to  arouse  the  sensation  of 
the  divine  in  minds,  merely  by  the  power  it  has  over  them ;  for 
to  its  members  it  is  what  a  god  is  to  his  worshippers."  ^^  The 
power  which  it  exerts  is  not  only  physical  but  moral.  Its  mem- 
bers recognize  its  spiritual  authority  and  feel  toward  it  the 
emotion  of  respect.  Hence  the  conclusion  that  "  the  reality 
which  religious  thought  expresses  is  society."  ^^ 

In  commenting  upon  Durkheim's  view  in  our  first  chapter, 
I  pointed  out  that  his  thesis,  while  workable  enough  for  so- 

31  Durkheim,  "  The  Elementary  Forms  of  the  Religious  Life,"  p.  41. 

32  Ibid.  p.  206. 

33  Ibid.  p.  431. 


80  TUE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

ciolog}',  leaves  a  large  part  of  individual  religion,  and  even 
much  of  modern  soeial  religion,  out  of  aeeount  and  hence  is 
(piite  insullioient  for  the  psychologist.  The  object  toward 
which  the  religious  man  maintains  his  characteristic  attitude 
is  not  the  historical  source  of  ''  the  sacred  '^  but  rather  the  hypo- 
thetical power  which  he  considers  the  Determiner  of  Destiny. 
Still  though  it  is  impossible  for  us  to  accept  Durkheim's  view  in 
its  extreme  form,  there  can  be  no  doubt  that  many  aspects  and 
characteristics  of  the  "  historical  religions  "  are  to  be  explained 
by  the  important  distinction  between  the  sacred  and  the  pro- 
fane. And  it  must  never  be  forgotten  that,  however  this  dis- 
tinction, once  it  has  arisen,  may  be  interpreted,  and  whatever  it 
may  mean  to  individuals,  it  invariably  has  its  source  in  the 
taboos  and  interdictions  of  society. 

This  is  perhaps  as  good  a  place  as  any  to  consider  a  view  held 
by  several  members  of  what  may  be  called  the  Durkheim 
school,  closely  related  to  the  facts  and  theories  just  considered. 
Religion,  it  is  held,  is  altogether  a  social  product ;  it  originated 
as  a  mass  of  beliefs,  feelings,  and  actions  enforced  upon  the 
individual  by  the  group ;  and  the  "  collective  representations  " 
which  constitute  its  ideational  side  have  been  handed  down  to 
more  intelligent  times,  thus  carrying  into  scientific  ages  and 
among  civilized  peoples  beliefs  and  feelings  which  should  long 
ago  have  been  discarded.  The  social  origin  of  religion  is  thus 
used  as  a  proof  that  religion  to-day  is  an  anachronism.  M. 
Levy-Bruhl,  who  is  the  chief  upholder  of  this  view,  maintains 
that  the  intelligence  of  primitive  man  and  of  the  primitive  so- 
cieties in  which  religion  had  its  birth,  must  not  be  judged  by 
what  we  know  of  intelligence  to-day.  It  was  as  yet  at  a  pre- 
logical  stage,  quite  innocent  of  the  principle  of  contradiction, 
and  it  operated  by  a  category  of  its  own,  entirely  unscientific 
and  illogical  in  its  nature,  which  M.  Levy-Bruhl  calls  ''  par- 
ticipation." Religion,  then  had  its  origin  in  this  pre-logical 
state,  in  which  the  individual  merely  accepted  the  beliefs  of 
the  group  vrithout  question  or  analysis;  and  the  "collective 
representations  "  of  w^hich  religion  consists  are,  consequently, 
quite  out  of  place  in  a  logical  age  like  our  owti  in  which  the 
principle  of  contradiction  has  taken  the  place  of  the  vague  and 


SOCIETY  A^jy  THE  IjSTDIVIDUAL  81 

mystic  category  of  participation.^^  That  the  collective  con- 
sciousness in  which  religion  originated  is  on  a  plane  much  lower 
than  reason  and  that  reason  belongs  only  to  the  individual,  is 
maintained  in  another  connection  by  MM.  Hubert  and  Mauss  ^^ 
—  with  the  natural  inference  as  to  religion.  This  same  point 
of  view  is  taken  up  by  Mr.  Cornford  and  applied  in  particular 
to  the  Greek  religion.  The  two  underlying  conceptions  of  both 
the  religion  and  the  early  philosophy  of  the  Greeks  were,  ac- 
cording to  him,  physis  and  Moira  —  nature  and  destiny.  The 
former  of  these  is,  in  its  origin,  social  custom,  the  latter  social 
restraint.  Thus  both  have  their  source  in  the  universal  sense 
of  the  collective  consciousness  and  the  feeling  of  its  authority 
over  the  individual.  "  Out  of  this  primitive  representation 
arose,  by  differentiation,  the  notions  of  group-soul  and  daemon, 
and  finally  the  individual  soul  and  the  personial  God.  These 
imaginary  objects,  souls  and  Gods,  are  made  of  the  same  stuif ; 
their  substance  is  simply  the  old  sympathetic  continuum,  more 
or  less  etherialized."  ^^ 

This  is  not  the  place  to  consider  the  question  of  the  origin  of 
religion,  but  a  word  or  two  should  be  ventured  in  comment 
upon  the  view  maintained  by  the  authors  we  have  been  consid- 
ering on  the  social  origin  of  religious  concepts  and  their  conse- 
quent irrational  and  untenable  nature.  There  can  be  no  doubt 
that  a  large  portion  of  the  concepts  even  of  the  higher  religions 
is  of  social  origin,  and  that  all  of  them  are  forced  upon  the 
individual  members  of  the  group  by  the  influences  which  social 
psychologs^  studies.  From  the  fact,  however,  that  a  given  con- 
cept or  belief  is  the  product  of  the  group  consciousness  it  does 
not  necessarily  follow  that  it  is  irrational  and  untenable.  M. 
Levy-Bruhrs  picture  of  a  pre-logical  intelligence  producing 
religion  in  the  collective  consciousness  before  the  principle  of 
contradiction  was  made  use  of  in  thinking,  is  quite  as  unjus- 

34  "  Les  Fonctions  Mentales  dans  les  Societes  Inferieure  "  (Paris,  Alcan: 
1910). 

35  "  Esquisse  d'une  Theorie  General  de  la  Magie,"  L'Anee  Sociologique, 
Vol.  VII,   (1902-03),  p.  122. 

36  "  From  Religion  to  Philosophy,"  pp.  124-25.  A  view  more  sympathetic 
toward  religion  but  in  the  last  analysis  not  essentially  different  from  that 
of  Levy-Bruhl  is  to  be  found  in  Miss  Harrison's  "Themis"  (Cambridge 
University  Press:    1912).     See  especially  the  Introduction. 


82  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

tified  by  anything  we  can  call  science  as  is  Rousseau's  descrip- 
tion of  the  *'  State  of  Nature."  Mr.  Clement  Webb,  in  fact, 
has  pointed  out  that  ^I.  Lovy-Brulil  does  not  seem  to  know  what 
the  principle  of  contradiction  is.''"  And  aside  from  this,  it 
seems  odd  to  find  the  school  of  sociologists  who  regard  all  the 
categories  of  logic  as  the  developments  of  ''  collective  represen- 
tations "  insisting  that  religion  is  illogical  because  it  has  the 
same  social  source.  Much  more  sound,  surely,  is  the  view  of 
Durkheim  himself  who  finds  in  the  social  origin  of  religion 
the  strongest  evidence  for  considering  its  fundamental  beliefs, 
when  properly  interpreted,  profoundly  true.  The  historical 
student  of  religion,  moreover,  will  hesitate  before  making  the 
easy  generalization  that  because  many  of  the  elements  in  the 
higher  religions  are  of  primitive  and  social  origin,  therefore 
all  the  elements  of  these  religions  are  due  to  the  same  source. 
He  knows  too  well  that  there  is  such  a  thing  as  religious  de- 
velopment, that  in  the  course  of  this  development  new  ideas 
and  practices  are  evolved,  that  some  at  least  of  these  new  ele- 
ments are  plainly  due  to  the  influence  of  religious  geniuses,  and 
that  many  of  them  are  due  to  intelligent  cooperation  on  the  part 
of  innumerable  nameless  individuals.  The  fact  therefore  that 
religion  gets  much  of  its  content  and  all  of  its  authority  from 
society  cannot  be  regarded  as  a  demonstration  that  it  is  to  be 
classed  with  magic  and  other  out-grown  superstitions  which  ad- 
vancing scientific  generations  must  soon  slough  off. 

The  consideration  of  this  point  of  view  has  taken  us  some- 
what out  of  our  course  and  we  must  now  return  to  the  point 
we  had  reached  before  our  digression.  We  had  seen  that  the 
authoritative  nature  of  religion  and  its  conservative  and  tradi- 
tional elements  must  be  put  down  to  the  score  of  society  rather 
than  to  that  of  the  individual.  But  between  different  kinds 
of  religious  tradition  there  are  differences  in  the  strength  of 
conservatism.  Especially  is  this  seen  to  be  the  case  if  one 
compares  religious  beliefs  with  rites  or  customs.  Approved 
ways  of  acting  have  been  historically  much  more  tenacious  of 
life  than  approved  ways  of  thinking.^^  A  curious  example  of 
this  is  the  following  instance  related  by  Hoffding : 

37  See  his  "  Group  Theories  of  Religion  and  the  Religion  of  the  Indi- 
vidual "   (London,  Macmillan:   1016),  especially  Chaps.  II  and  VI. 

38  This  is  the  truth  at  the  heart  of  Tarde's  famous  "  Law,"  that  "  imita- 


SOCIETY  AND  THE  INDIVIDUAL  83 

"  In  a  Danish  village  church  the  custom  of  bowing  when 
passing  a  certain  spot  in  the  church  wall  was  maintained  into 
the  nineteenth  century,  but  no  one  knew  the  reason  for  this 
until,  on  the  whitewash  being  scraped  away,  a  picture  of  the 
Madonna  was  found  on  the  wall ;  thus  the  custom  had  outlived 
the  Catholicism  which  prompted  it  by  three  hundred  years; 
it  was  a  part  of  the  old  cult  which  had  maintained  itself."  ^® 

Illustrations  of  the  conservatism  of  rites,  ceremonies,  and  sa- 
cred ways  of  acting  in  general  might  be  cited  in  endless  number 
from  all  the  historical  religions  of  the  world.  In  low  and 
primitive  races  they  constitute  the  great  bulk  of  the  peoples' 
religion.  For  these  tribes  beliefs  are  few,  indefinite,  and  rela- 
tively unimportant ;  you  may  thinh  what  you  like,  for  you  are 
not  expected  to  think  at  all,  but  you  must  act,  in  sacred  mat- 
ters, as  the  group  acts.  Down  through  the  centuries  go  the  old 
rites,  serenely  oblivious  to  changing  thoughts  and  changing 
needs.  The  earliest  Egyptians  placed  stone  implements  in  the 
graves  of  their  dead.  Ages  pass,  and  eventually  metal  instru- 
ments are  invented.  The  living  now  lay  aside  the  stone  tools 
of  their  fathers  because  in  practical  life  utility  is  stronger 
than  custom.  But  stone  implements  are  still  made  for  the  use 
of  the  dead,  because  the  dead  have  always  had  them,  and  burial 
is  a  religious  rite."  ^^  The  Buddhist  monks,  and  for  that 
matter  the  monks  of  almost  every  religion,  still  read  their  Scrip- 
tures in  the  ancient  tongue.  It  may  be  that  not  one  of  them 
can  understand  a  word  of  what  he  reads,  but  that  matters  not. 
The  thing  to  which  the  sacredness  of  tradition  has  attached 
is  the  rite,  the  reaction,  the  making  of  those  sounds  in  that  way, 
at  such  a  time  and  so  often, —  not  the  thinking  of  any  special 

tion  proceeds  from  the  inner  to  the  outer  man."  ("Laws  of  Imitation," 
p.  199.)  It  is  a  more  tenable  "law"  when  expressed  from  the  point  of 
view  of  conservatism  than  from  that  of  change.  As  Tarde  expresses  it, 
it  is  open  to  Baldwin's  criticism,  that,  as  a  fact,  "  the  relatively  trivial  and 
external  things  are  most  liable  to  be  seized  upon.  A  child  imitates  per- 
sons, and  what  he  copies  most  largely  are  the  personal  points  of  evidence, 
so  to  speak:  the  boldest,  most  external  manifestations,  not  the  inner  es- 
sentials mental  things."  ("Mental  Development,"  pp.  336-337.)  This  of 
course  is  true.  But  it  is  also  true  that  though  ways  of  doing  may  be 
easily  imitated  they  are  particularly  difficult  to  uproot. 

39  "The  Philosophy  of  Religion,"  p.  148. 

40Reisner,  "The  Egyptian  Conception  of  Immortality"  (Boston,  Hough- 
ton, Mifflin;  1912)   pp.  12-13. 


84  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

thoughts.  Ill  like  manner  the  Abvsriinian  Christians  retain 
the  Koptic  in  their  liturgy  and  the  modem  J*arsee  retains  the 
language  of  the  Avesta,  the  non-Arabic  ^lohammedans  cling  to 
the  Arabic  in  their  Scriptures,  the  Jaina  to  his  Prakrit  and 
Sanskrit  Sutras,  the  Jew  to  his  Hebrew  and  the  Catholic 
Christian  to  the  Latin  of  the  Vulgate  and  the  Mass.  In  short, 
every  religion  and  every  church  that  has  a  ritual  trains  its 
members  to  do  the  old  things  in  the  old  ways,  and  to  permit 
but  little  change. 

This  conservatism  of  custom  is  specially  noticeable  in  cases 
like  that  quoted  from  Hoffding  in  which  an  actual  change  in 
belief  has  taken  place.     And  cases  of  this  sort  are  to  be  found 
wherever  a  new  creed  replaces  an  old  one.     Zarathustra  may 
preach  a  relatively  spiritual  monotheism  and  destroy  the  poly- 
theism of  his  countrv,  but  the  old  Aryan  sacred  customs  must 
be  maintained.     Mohammed  may  cast  down  all  the  idols  of  the 
Caaba,  but  the  Caaba  and  its  black  stone  remain  sacred,  pil- 
grims must  still  come  annually  to  Mecca,  run  the  ancient  naked 
race  about  the  now  empty  shrine,  drink  of  the  sacred  well  Zem 
Zem  and  act  very  much   as  their  ancestors  did   before  they 
learned  there  was  no  God  but  Allah.     And  the  converts  to  Islam 
in  every  part  of  the  world  will  be  found  accepting  Mohammed 
and  the  Koran  with  eagerness,  but  still  decking  out  the  sacred 
tree  with  all  manner  of  gay  rags  just  as  their  pagan  fathers  did, 
or  carrying  on  some  other  hoary  custom  that  was  old  before 
the  Prophet  was  young.     Nor  has  it  been  otherwise  in  our  own 
Christianity.     Antiquaries  can  cite  us  endless  instances  of  cus- 
toms of  pagan  Pome  incorporated  in  Catholic  observance  or 
of  old  Germanic  or  Saxon  or  Celtic  spirit-mongery  retained  by 
the  Christians  of  northern  Europe  long  after  the  beliefs  which 
at  first  went  hand-in-hand  with  them  had  been  not  only  dis- 
carded but  clean  forgotten.     And  in  our  own  day  upon  the 
"  foreign  field,"  the  enthusiastic  Christian  convert,  brown,  yel- 
low, or  black,  who  accepts  the  creed  with  stronger  faith  and 
more  avidity  than  two-thirds  of  the  American  or   European 
Christians  who  sent  his  missionary  to  him,  must  still  cling  to 
some  of  the  old  rites  and  many  of  the  old  feelings  which  his 
heathen  fathers  nourished  in  the  dark  forests  through  the  dark 
centuries. 


SOCIETY  AND  THE  IJSTDIVIDUAL  85 

This  superior  strength  of  custom  over  belief  in  resisting  the 
inroads  of  change  is  more  noticeable  in  the  lower  than  in  the 
higher  religions,  and  it  is  so  because  in  the  latter  belief  has  a 
greater  relative  importance  than  in  the  former.  Especially  in 
Christianity  has  effort  been  made  time  and  again  —  and  in  fact 
quite  constantly  —  to  keep  unchanged  the  theology  of  the  past. 
The  ideal  of  belief  is  expressed  in  the  formula,  "  Quod  semper, 
quod  uhique,  quod  ah  omnibus/*  And  mechanisms  of  various 
sorts  such  as  the  Holy  Inquisition  of  the  Roman  Church  and 
the  Heresy  Trial  of  the  Presbyterian  have  been  invented  to  keep 
pure  the  faith  once  delivered  to  the  Fathers  by  the  Prophets. 
And  of  course  it  would  be  a  mistake  to  fail  to  recognize  the 
strength  of  conservatism  in  doctrine  as  well  as  the  conservatism 
of  action  and  feeling.  Each  generation  starts  in  believing  what 
its  predecessor  believed,  and  a  faith  once  thoroughly  grounded 
is  not  easily  disturbed.  Fundamental  beliefs,  in  fact,  are  some- 
times more  conservative  than  superficial  acts,  and  it  not  infre- 
quently happens  that  the  basal  concepts  of  an  old  religion  are 
retained  after  its  rites  have  been  exchanged  for  those  of  some 
new  faith.  Though  this  is  true,  however,  it  cannot  be  doubted 
that  religious  customs  in  general  are  much  more  conservative 
than  are  creeds  and  dogmas,  and  it  may  be  worth  our  while  to 
note  briefly  some  of  the  causes  for  this  fact. 

One  of  the  explanations,  often  pointed  out  by  sociologists,  is 
that  beliefs  are  subject  to  rational  discussion  and  refutation 
in  a  way  that  customs  are  not.  A  new  conception  of  things,  at 
first  adopted  by  the  thinkers  of  a  group  and  gradually  made 
common  property,  may  after  a  while  be  generally  recognized 
as  inconsistent  with  some  ancient  dogma,  but  there  is  no  way 
in  which  it  can  come  into  such  immediate  conflict  with  a  rite 
or  consecrated  way  of  acting.  A  breach,  moreover,  of  a  re- 
ligious observance  is  patent  to  all  the  community  and  arouses 
more  general  and  more  violent  indignation  and  social  disap- 
proval than  does  an  heretical  idea.  One's  thoughts  are  private 
and  subjective  things,  and  a  man  may  well  feel  that  both  he 
and  his  neighbor  have  a  right  to  believe  as  they  like  provided 
they  observe  the  external  and  objective  customs  of  their  tribes. 
Within  the  savage  church  a  "  freedom  of  thought  "  may  be  per- 
mitted which  would  have  shock  a  I7th  Century  Puritan  — 


80  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

or  even  a  llHh  Centurv  Scotch  Presbyterian  ;  and  the  ''  free 
thinker  "  will  po  unscathed  and  probably  unnoticed  provided 
he  does  not  offend  the  taste  of  the  community  by  original 
modes  of  acting.  Religious  customs,  moreover,  are  absorbed 
by  the  individual  in  earlier  and  more  impressible  years  than 
are  beliefs,  and  thus  become  more  ingrained  into  his  nervous 
system.  And  I  think  there  is  also  a  more  fundamental  phy- 
siological reason  still,  bound  up  somehow  with  the  working  of 
the  nervous  system,  though  just  how  we  can  hardly  be  sure. 
The  difference  betweei;i  a  creed  and  a  religious  custom  is, 
namely,  the  same  as  that  between  an  idea  and  a  habit.  Now 
it  is  a  psychological  common-place  that  ideas  may  be  changed 
with  relative  ease  but  habits  can  be  broken  only  with  the  great- 
est difficulty.  The  explanation  of  this  fact  is,  I  say,  ultimately 
to  be  sought  in  the  nervous  system.  Few  things  are  so  funda- 
mental in  our  lives  as  the  law  of  habit,  by  which  a  given  precept 
becomes  so  inextricably  associated  with  a  given  reaction  that 
the  latter  follows  almost  inevitably  upon  the  appearance  of  the 
former.  Just  what  the  nervous  mechanism  is  that  underlies 
this  law  cannot  be  said  with  both  definiteness  and  certainty. 
But  there  can  be  no  doubt  that  the  nerve  paths  involved  greatly 
exceed  both  in  simplicity  and  in  stability  those  which  underlie 
the  process  of  ideation  and  thought  —  which,  whatever  else 
they  may  be,  are  certainly  very  complex  and  exceedingly  un- 
stable. The  conservatism  of  religious  customs  as  compared 
with  religious  beliefs  is  therefore  to  be  explained  ultimately  in 
both  psychological  and  physiological  terms. 

The  law  of  habit,  moreover,  working  in  connection  with  so- 
cial approval  and  disapproval  will  enable  us  to  understand  the 
sacredness  and  authority  of  both  religious  customs  and  re- 
ligious beliefs.  The  force  of  habit  and  the  very  inertia  of  a 
long-standing  belief  give  belief  and  custom  a  coloring  of  self 
which  forces  one  to  respect  them.  They  are  a  part  of  oneself  — 
they  are  the  ways  I  have  always  acted  and  always  believed. 
Still  more  important  in  giving  sacredness  and  authority  to 
ideas  and  actions  is  the  impressive  source  from  which  they 
come  to  us  —  namely  our  parents,  the  elders  of  the  community, 
Society  itself.  Since  in  every  individual  the  ought  grows  out 
of  the  must,  and  the  earliest  sense  of  duty  grows  out  of  the  re- 


SOCIETY  AND  THE  INDIVIDUAL  87 

action  to  the  commands  of  one's  elders,  the  forbidden  tends  al- 
ways to  seem  wrong,  and  the  commanded  to  seem  right.  Durk- 
heim  is  therefore  justified  in  insisting  that  the  sense  of  obliga- 
tion which  attaches  to  so  many  of  the  beliefs  and  observances 
of  all  historical  religions  is  due  to  their  social  origin.  "  Every- 
thing obligatory  is  of  social  origin.  For  an  obligation  implies 
a  command,  and  consequently  an  authority  who  commands.  If 
the  individual  is  to  be  held  to  conform  his  conduct  to  3ertain 
rules  it  is  necessary  that  these  rules  should  emanate  from  a 
moral  authority  which  imposes  them  on  Kim,  and  which  domin- 
ates him."  ^^  This  authority  is  society,  the  only  power  we 
can  empirically  verify  that  can  dominate  the  thoughts  and  the 
will  of  the  individual.  The  fact  that  its  commands  seem  to 
him  mysterious  is  what  we  should  expect.  Eor  its  customs  and 
its  ideas  are  not  spontaneous  with  him,  but  originating  in  an 
age  long  antedating  his  birth  and  under  conditions  of  which 
he  has  no  inkling,  they  are  forced  upon  him  in  a  manner  that 
he  cannot  resist.  And  their  very  mystery  adds  to  their  au- 
thority and  increases  their  sacredness.  All  authoritative  re- 
ligion is  a  social  phenomenon. 

After  our  long  discussion  of  tradition,  little  need  be  said  of 
the  other  branch  of  imitation,  namely  convention  or  fashion. 
That  it  exists  in  religion  as  elsewhere  is  plain  enough.  The 
great  change  that  has  come  over  the  theology  and  worship  of 
Europe  and  America  in  the  last  fifty  years  is  an  impressive  ex- 
ample of  it.  For  the  reason  why  most  of  us  individuals  (taken 
separately)  do  not  believe  as  our  grandfathers  did  is  not  to  be 
sought  for  in  any  great  originality  or  strength  of  intellect  on 
our  part.  Our  grandfathers  copied  their  grandfathers  to  be 
sure,  and  we  do  not  so  faithfully  copy  ours ;  but  the  reason  for 
it  is  that  we  copy  other  people  instead,  namely  some  of  our 
more  advanced  contemporaries.  We  are  all  imitators;  it  is 
only  a  question  of  whom  we  shall  imitate.  At  the  same  time, 
of  course,  we  must  not  forget  that  most  of  us,  in  some  slight 
degree,  are  also  originators. 

The  yielding  of  tradition  to  a  kind  of  imitation  that  in- 
volves change  is  due  to  two  principal  psychological  causes :  the 
first  is  that  man  is  a  suggestible  being,  and  the  second  that 

*i  "  De  la  definition  des  phenomenes  religieux,"  p.  23. 


88  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

man  is  a  rational  being.  Wlicn  we  find  a  number  of  those 
around  us  who  possess  prestip;e  cherishing  religious  views  at 
variance  with  those  taught  us  at  our  mother's  knee,  it  is  difficult 
to  retain  the  old  beliefs  unchanged,  even  though  we  refrain 
from  all  theological  discussion.  There  is  such  a  thing  as  a 
psychological  atmosphere  which  all  but  the  most  thick-skinned 
feel.  And  just  as  the  northerner  who  goes  to  live  in  the  south 
usuallv  becomes  an  ardent  advocate  of  the  "  White  Man's  Gov- 
ernment,"  so  the  orthodox  youth  who  goes  to  the  heretical  col- 
lege, or  settles  in  a  "  liberal  "  community  usually  becomes  in- 
noculated  with  the  new  ideas."*^  Nor  is  this  true  onlv  of  ideas 
for  which  rational  justification  can  be  given;  superstitions  and 
absurd  ideas,  if  held  by  the  community  as  a  whole,  have  much 
the  same  power.  Bagchot  speaks  of  the  force  which  even  the 
belief  in  witchcraft  may  come  to  have  over  those  w^ho  at  first 
laugh  at  it.  The  European  resident  in  the  East  often  ends  by 
feeling  that  there  "  really  is  something  in  it."  "  He  has  never 
seen  anything  convincing  himself,  but  he  has  seen  those  w^ho 
have  seen  those  who  have  seen.  In  fact  he  has  lived  in  an 
atmosphere  of  infectious  belief,  and  he  has  inhaled  it."  *^ 

The  power  of  rational  ideas  to  force  their  way  even  against 
tradition  needs  no  illustration.  It  is  to  this,  of  course,  that 
the  many  changes  of  Christian  theology  in  modern  times  are 
largely  due.  It  must  be  remembered,  however,  that  even  here 
the  rationality  of  the  ideas  in  question  plays  only  a  small  part 
in  their  popularization.  Not  their  intrinsic  rationality  but 
the  fact  that  they  are  accepted  and  taught  by  people  who  ought 
to  know,  by  those  who  have  a  peculiar  prestige,  this  it  is  that 
gives  them  their  hold  over  the  popular  mind.  So  far  as  Dar- 
wdn  has  triumphed  over  Genesis,  and  the  higher  criticism  over 
the  infallibility  doctrine  of  the  Scriptures,  in  popular  theology, 
the  cause  must  be  sought  chiefly  in  the  fact  that  the  preachers 

*2  Another  instance  of  the  power  of  convention  is  to  be  found  in  the  atti- 
tude of  a  large  proportion  of  the  religious  people  from  eastern  communities 
who  settle  in  western  towns  where  institutional  religion  has  found  no  foot- 
ing. The  ease  with  which  they  lose  their  religious  ways  of  thinking  and 
of  acting  is  very  notable. 

«"  Physics  and  Politics"  (New  York,  Appleton:  1873),  p.  93.  The 
more  immediate  and,  I  may  add,  pathological  strength  of  suggestion  in 
religious  matters  will  be  studied  at  length  in  our  chapter  on  Revivals. 


SOCIETY  AND  THE  INDIVIDUAL  89 

and  professors  have  taught  the  newer  views  and  are  hnown  to 
accept  them.  Here  as  elsewhere  faith  is  largely  a  matter  of 
faith  in  some  one  else's  faith.  There  is  no  doubt  that  a  great 
number  of  those  who  hold  most  enthusiastically  to  the  "  latest 
results  of  modern  science  and  criticism "  as  applied  to  re- 
ligious questions  would  be  unable  to  give  you  a  single  good 
reason  for  their  belief. 

The  inability  of  traditional  belief  to  maintain  itself  alto- 
gether unchanged  is,  of  course,  the  condition  of  there  being  any 
history  of  religion  or  religions.  Religion  is  not  always  merely 
on  the  side  of  conservatism.  The  religious  genius,  in  fact, 
is  always  regarded  as  an  innovator.  His  formula,  if  such  a 
term  may  be  used  of  him,  is :  "  Ye  have  heard  that  it  hath 
been  said  by  those  of  old  times.  .  .  .  but  I  say  unto  you." 
And  the  enthusiastic  religious  soul  often  sets  himself  against 
the  old  for  the  sake  of  the  nobler  vision  of  that  which  never  yet 
has  been.  "  It  would  be  absurd,"  say  Dewey  and  Tufts,  "  to 
attribute  all  the  individualism  to  science  and  all  the  conser- 
vatism to  religion.  .  .  .  The  struggle  for  religious  liberty  has 
usually  been  carried  on  not  by  the  irreligious  but  by  the  re- 
ligious. .  .  .  The  history  of  the  noble  army  of  martyrs  is  a 
record  of  appeal  to  individual  conscience,  or  to  an  immediate 
personal  relation  to  God,  as  over  against  the  formal,  the  tra- 
ditional, the  organized  religious  customs  and  doctrines  of  their 
age."  ^^  Unfortunately  we  must  add  it  is  not  only  the  ideal 
that  prevents  the  perfect  maintenance  of  religious  beliefs  and 
customs;  it  often  happens  that  the  dead  weight  of  human 
infirmity  hangs  like  a  chain  upon  the  more  ideal  religious  tra- 
ditions, and  unless  they  are  sustained  by  the  enthusiasm  and 
'the  unremitting  vigilance  of  a  spiritual  minority,  it  drags 
down  the  finer  elements  of  the  faith  to  the  earth  again,  turns 
prayer  into  formula,  and  religion  into  magic.  The  mainte- 
nance of  lofty  ideals,  even  if  they  be  traditional,  requires  effort, 
and  the  sheer  inertia  of  the  mass  of  mankind  tends  ever  to  fall 
below  the  higher  standards  and  to  carry  the  noble  religious 
tradition  down  with  it.  Social  heredity  no  less  than  physical 
has  its  law  of  atavism.  In  religion  as  elsewhere  ''  facilis  descen- 
sus Avemi/' 

4* "Ethics"   (New  York,  Holt  &  Company:  1909),  p.  85. 


90  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

Wliothor  tho  force  operating  apiinst  the  relipous  tradition 
be  ideal  or  degenerating,  in  the  long  course  of  the  years  it  tells, 
even  against  so  strong  a  resistance  as  that  of  religious  conserva- 
tism. This  fact  is  no  new  discovery.  It  was  ohserved  by 
^Mohammed  and  gave  rise  to  his  belief  in  a  primitive  pure  reve- 
lation, regularly  forgotten  by  the  passing  generations  of  men, 
and  regularly  renewed  by  the  succession  of  the  Prophets.  And 
much  earlier  than  Mohammed's  time,  it  formed  the  basis  of  the 
early  Buddhist  view  that  the  Dhamma  was  regularly  forgotten 
and  had  to  be  brought  back  to  earth  again  every  4000  years  by 
the  series  of  Buddhas,  of  whom  Gautama  was  the  latest.  This 
Buddhist  and  Mohammedan  view  is  based  on  a  sound  psychol- 
ogy. And  it  is  a  fact  which  Christians  no  less  than  others  must 
recognize  and  with  which  they  should  reckon.  Certainly  the 
bistorv  of  Christianitv  is  as  strikinsj  —  and  almost  as  sad  —  an 
illustration  of  the  fact  as  is  the  history  of  Buddhism.  And  this 
fact  of  the  certainty  of  change,  for  better  or  for  worse,  is  not 
confined  to  the  past  but  is  bound  to  hold  true  in  the  future  as 
well,  since  it  is  based  on  the  very  laws  of  the  human  soul. 

The  present  chapter  and  the  three  preceding  it  have  dealt  with 
religion  in  rather  general  terms.  We  must  now  come  to  closer 
grips  with  our  subject  and  study  the  religious  consciousness  in 
greater  detail  —  its  nature  and  content,  its  activities  and  ex- 
pressions, its  development.  While  the  influence  of  society  must 
ever  be  kept  vividly  in  mind,  the  immediate  object  of  our  study 
—  as  the  present  chapter  has  indicated  —  must  be  the  religion 
of  the  individual ;  for  we  are  here  concerned  not  with  sociology 
or  anthropology  or  history,  but  with  psychology.  In  the  fol- 
lowing chapter  we  shall,  therefore,  consider  the  earliest  form  of 
the  individual  religious  consciousness  as  found  in  the  soul  of 
the  child,  tracing  its  development  thereafter  through  youth  into 
the  mature  years. 


CHAPTEK  V 

THE  RELIGION  OF  CHILDHOOD 

It  is  seldom  that  the  psychologist  can  be  more  optimistic  than 
the  poet.  But,  strangely  enough,  he  sometimes  has  the  oppor- 
tunity, and  nowhere  is  this  more  evident  than  on  the  question 
of  the  development  of  the  individual  mind.  According  to 
Wordsworth, 

"  Heaven  lies  about  us  in  our  infancy ! 
Shades  of  the  prison-house  begin  to  close 
Upon  the  growing  Boy, 

But  he  beholds  the  light,  and  whence  it  flows, 
He  sees  it  in  his  joy; 
The  youth  who  daily  farther  from  the  east 
Must  travel,  still  is  Nature's  priest, 
And  by  the  vision  splendid 
Is  on  his  way  attended. 
At  length  the  man  perceives  it  die  away. 
And  fade  into  the  common  light  of  day." 

In  this  decidedly  somber  view  of  the  development  —  or  de- 
generation —  of  the  individual,  the  psychologist  cannot  follow 
the  poet.  Indeed  the  genetic  study  of  mind  results  in  a  de- 
scription of  human  life  almost  the  reverse  of  that  presented  by 
Wordsworth.  In  the  first  place,  if  we  may  believe  the  psychol- 
ogist, it  is  not  true,  (at  least  not  true  in  any  special  sense)  that 
heaven  lies  about  us  in  our  infancy.  This  view  is  a  poetic  ideal- 
ization of  babyhood  which  finds  no  support  from  the  scientific 
study  of  babies.  Earth  lies  about  us  in  our  infancy  —  that  is 
the  plain,  prosaic  fact.  The  baby  is  a  little  animal  and  hardly 
more.  Nothing  more  in  truth,  except  in  promise  and  potency ; 
and  the  promise  and  potency  exist  only  for  the  on-looking  ma- 
ture mind.  The  baby  knows  nothing  of  them  nor  of  the  Heaven 
which  lies  about  us  all.  The  shades  of  the  prison-house  begin 
to  hreah  about  the  growing  boy.  And  it  is  only  by  the  complete 
man  in  his  hours  of  greatest  maturity  and  insight  that  Heaven 
is  seen  and  felt  to  lie  about  us. 

91 


92  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

The  baby,  as  I  have  said,  is  bom  into  the  world  a  little  ani- 
mal, with  an  equipment  of  senses,  reflexes,  instincts,  and  in- 
cipient intelligence.  The  world  he  is  born  into  is  admirably 
adapted  to  exactly  his  needs  and  potentialities.  It  has  been 
humanized  for  him  by  a  thousand  centuries  of  human  life  and 
thought  and  elTort.  Preeminently  it  is  a  social  world,  a  world 
of  people  older  than  he  who  not  only  are  themselves  stamped 
with  certain  traditional  ways  of  action  and  thought  but  also  in- 
sist upon  impressing,  directly  or  indirectly,  the  same  stamp 
upon  him.  In  the  preceding  chapter  we  have  seen  that  the 
child  is  like  soft  clay  in  the  hands  of  the  older  generation,  and 
that  his  innate  tendency  to  imitation  necessitates  his  copying 
the  models  which  he  finds.  These  words  "  imitation  "  and  ^ 
"  copying,"  however,  must  be  taken  in  a  broader  sense  than  that 
given  to  them  in  common  sj>eech.  The  imitation  of  which  child 
psychology  speaks  is  mostly  quite  involuntary,  and  in  a  sense 
passive  as  well  as  active.  The  child  is,  as  it  were,  submerged  in 
a  medium  in  which  he  soaks  till  it  permeates  his  entire  being. 
This  medium  is  constituted  by  the  social  heredity, —  the  cus- 
toms, attitudes,  feelings,  ideals, —  of  that  part  of  the  race  to 
which  he  belongs.  He  breathes  it  with  the  air  and  drinks  it 
in  with  his  mother's  milk.  It  is  all  natural  to  him,  in  the 
sense  that  it  is  thoroughly  human  and  is  adapted  marvelously 
well  to  all  that  he  is  and  may  be ;  yet  he  did  not  bring  it  with 
him,  but  simply  finds  it  waiting  for  him  and  inevitably  his 
whether  he  will  or  no.     . 

Part  of  this  racial  inheritance  is  the  child's  religion.  It 
would  be  as  impossible  to  say  when  he  begins  to  acquire  it  as 
it  would  be  to  say  when  he  begins  to  learn  his  mother  tongue,  y 
And,  once  started,  its  growth  is  as  natural  as  it  is  gradual. 
It  is  not  something  that  depends  upon  teaching,  as  a  foreign 
language  does.  If  you  ask  the  good  and  wise  mother  how  she 
taught  her  children  to  be  religious  she  will  not  be  able  to 
tell  you.  Theology  has  to  be  taught ;  religion  cannot  be.  When 
the  mother  gives  her  child  his  first  lesson  in  theology  she  finds 
that  he  is  already  incipiently  religious. 

When  I  say  that  the  child  is  incipiently  religious  I  am,  of 
course,  using  religion  in  the  broad  sense  defined  in  the  first 
chapter.     The  child,  I  mean,  is  beginning  to  have  some  sort  of 


THE  EELIGIOJNJ'  OF  CHILDHOOD  93 

attitude,  extremely  indefinite  and  lacking  in  self -consciousness, 
to  be  sure,  toward  the  powers  determining  his  destiny.  This 
truly  religious  attitude  is  natural  for  him  because  he  possesses 
those  instincts  which  in  their  combination  make  the  adult  man 
religious.^  The  particular  objects  and  ideas  about  which  these 
instinctive  tendencies  center  are  varied  and  of  no  special  sig- 
nificance. The  powers  which  the  child  at  first  envisages  as  de- 
termining his  destiny  are  confined  to  his  immediate  social  cir- 
cle; and  the  beginnings  of  his  religious  sentiment  are  to  be 
found  in,  and  grow  up  out  of,  this  net-work  of  personal  relation- 
ships in  which  he  finds  himself  lying,  as  in  a  cradle.  "  The 
child's  earliest  expressions  of  reverence,  love,  devotion,  trust, 
dependence,  are  directed  to  the  actual  persons  of  his  environ- 
ment. It  is  impossible,  in  these  early  manifestations,  to  dis- 
tinguish what  is  ethical  from  what  is  religious ;  that  is,  it  is  im- 
possible to  see  any  marked  phase  of  the  expressive  attitudes  of 
the  child  which  can  be  called  religious  in  a  distinctive  sense 
....  He  reaches  a  constantly  enlarging  sense  of  the  richness 
of  personality  by  growing  up  into  the  lessons  set  by  the  actions 
of  others :  and  he  attains  greater  intimations  of  the  depth  and 
'possible  meaning  of  the  persons  about  him  through  his  own  re- 
actions to  them.  So  the  great  line  of  development  of  his  per- 
sonal self,  with  its  more  and  more  refined  sense  of  personal  char- 
acter in  others  —  this  is  his  one  and  only  source  of  sentiment  "  ^ 
—  whether  the  sentiment  be  ethical  or  religious. 

The  young  child's  mind  is  like  a  garden  in  May.  All  the 
things  in  it  are  growing  at  once,  and  nothing  waits  for  anything 
else.  Language,  morality,  and  religion,  feeling  of  all  sorts  and 
every  kind  of  knowledge  are  all  shooting  upward  at  a  furious 
rate,  and  all  seemingly  dependent  on  the  prior  appearance  of 
each  of  the  others,  to  the  logical  confusion  of  the  recording 
psychologist.  Of  special  importance  for  the  growth  of  religion 
at  this  period  is  the  development  of  self -consciousness  and  of 
social  consciousness;  for  these  are  the  presuppositions  of  re- 
ligion's becoming  explicit.     And  as  Baldwin  and  Royce  have 

1  Professor  Coe  discusses  this  point  very  instructively,  although  with  his 
usual  over-emphasis  upon  the  social.  See  "  The  Origin  and  Nature  of  Chil- 
dren's Faith  in  God."     Am.  Jour,  of  Theology,  XVIII   (1014)    169-90. 

2  Baldwin,  "  Social  and  Ethical  Interpretations,"  p.  337. 


94  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

so  well  pointed  out,'  each  of  these  is,  in  a  sense,  the  presupposi- 
tion of  the  other.  In  short  the  child's  consciousness  of  himself 
and  his  consciousness  of  other  people  as  selves,  grow  up  together 
out  of  a  social  milieu;  and  only  as  his  experience  becomes  thus 
gradually  difTerentiated  do  his  first  half-conscious  attitudes  to- 
ward the  sources  of  pleasure  and  pain,  his  vague  sense  of  de- 
pendence and  of  wonder,  take  on  a  more  definite  and  explicit 
form.  At  first  they  attach  themselves  inevitably  to  the  most 
prominent  factors  in  the  child's  imiverse,  namely  father  and 
mother,  or  possibly  nurse.  It  is  from  them  that  all  blessings 
flow  and  about  them  that  most  mystery  centers.  The  child's 
attitude  toward  them  is  not  usually  called  religion;  but  (allow- 
ing for  its  simplicity  and  indefiniteness)  it  is  psychologically 
the  same  in  nature  as  the  attitude  which  he  will  in  future  years 
come  to  have  toward  God.  "  It  is  a  tolerably  safe  assertion," 
says  Tracy,  *'  that  a  child  who,  for  any  reason,  has  never  wor- 
shiped his  mother,  will  be  by  so  much  the  less  likely  ever  to 
worship  any  other  divinity."  * 

The  origin  of  the  child's  religion  out  of  a  complex  of  inherited 
social  tendencies  and  personal  relations  makes  it  inevitable  that 
its  first  explicit  formulation  should  be  crassly  anthropomorphic 
in  form.  His  God,  growing  directly  out  of  his  father  or  his 
mother,  is  made  in  the  image  of  man.  The  process  by  which 
the  God-idea  gets  formed  is  influenced  and  complicated  by  all 
the  factors  of  the  child's  complex  mental  environment.  Among 
these  we  may  point  out  three  which  are  particularly  potent  — 
namely  (1)  the  indirect  influence  of  the  actions  of  older  per- 
sons, (2)  direct  teaching  on  religious  subjects,  (^)  the  natural 
development  of  the  child's  mind.  All  three  of  these  influences 
should  be  treated  at  once,  for  they  all  act  together  through  a 
period  of  years,  and  every  step  in  each  aids  in  the  forward 
movement  of  the  others. 

Of  these  three  influences  the  first  in  point  of  time,  and  per- 
haps the  first  in  pervasiveness,  is  the  indirect  influence  of  those 
who  surround  him.     The  child  is  intensely  interested  in  peo- 

3  Baldwin,  op.  cit.  Chaps.  I  and  IT.  Royce,  "  The  External  World  and 
the  Social  Consciousness."     Phil.  Rev.  Ill,  513-45. 

*"The  Psychology  of  Childhood"  (Boston,  Heath  &  Co.:  1909),  p.  190. 
On  the  same  point  cf.  Baldwin,  op,  cit.  pp.  343-44. 


THE  RELIGION  OF  CHILDHOOD  95 

pie  and  is  a  close  observer  of  what  they  do,  and  by  an  unescap- 
able  law  of  the  human  mind  he  imitates  their  actions  and  thus 
indirectly  comes  to  share  in  their  mental  attitudes  and  feelings. 
I  speak  of  this  law  of  imitation  as  unescapable  for  it  is  founded 
on  one  of  the  most  fundamental  facts  of  psychology  and  physi- 
ology. In  psychological  terms,  we  may  call  this  the  law  of 
sensory-motor  or  ideo-motor  action,  or  in  physiological  language 
we  may  refer  to  the  reflex  arc.  ]^ot  only  the  human  child,  but 
all  conscious  beings  that  we  know  anything  about  —  at  any  rate 
all  those  with  nervous  systems  —  are  built  upon  a  plan  which 
may  be  described  by  the  words  stimulus-reaction.  A  process 
once  perceived  and  attended  to  tends  to  be  set  up  or  imitated  in 
the  muscles  of  the  percipient,^  the  tendency  being  stronger  or 
weaker  according  to  the  absence  or  presence  of  inner  inhibitions 
or  of  rival  stimuli  and  according  to  the  freshness  and  suggesti- 
bility of  the  mind.  Now  the  mind  of  the  child,  so  lacking  in 
inhibitions,  so  unspoiled  by  previous  experience,  is  peculiarly 
suggestive,  hence  the  vivid  perception  of  another's  interesting 
act  tends  to  initiate  motor  processes  towards  both  his  voluntary 
and  his  non-voluntary  muscles.  And  so  close  is  the  relation 
between  reaction  and  feeling,  between  bodily  expression  and 
inner  state,  that  he  who  imitates  another's  act,  posture,  or  ex- 
pression is  likely  to  share  at  least  incipiently  in  the  mental  atti- 
tude thus  expressed.  Here  we  have  one  of  the  most  subtle, 
far-reaching,  and  long-enduring  of  all  the  influences  that  mould 
the  religion  of  the  child.  The  boy  may  be  taught  all  the  thirty- 
nine  Articles  or  howsoever  many  there  be,  but  if  he  sees  in  his 
parents  and  those  about  him  no  expression  of  reverence,  for  a 
Power  greater  than  themselves,  no  sign  of  worship  or  of  reli- 
gious feeling  in  their  conduct  or  their  conversation,  his  religion 
will  probably  be  of  a  very  superficial  sort.  It  is  more  important 
that  he  should  imitate  actions  which  are  expressive  of  religious 
feelings  and  thus  come  to  wonder,  think,  and  feel  for  himself, 
than  that  he  should  learn  any  amount  of  pious  words.  Carlyle 
lAakes  Teufelsdrockh  refer  to  this  indirect  influence  of  his  foster- 
parents  as  the  great  power  in  his  own  early  religion.     "  The 

B  The  almost  total  absence  of  imitation  in  the  sub-human  world,  except 
in  the  case  of  actions  already  prompted  by  instinct  is  due  to  the  facts  that 
animals  seldom  pay  attention  to  objects  or  actions  not  connected  with  their 
specific  instincts,  and  that  they  are  incapable  of  free  ideas. 


9G  THE  RELIGIOUS  COXSCIOUSNESS 

biirliost  ■svhom  T  knew  on  oartli  T  here  saw  Lowed  dowTi,  with  awe 
unspeakabh',  hcforo  a  Iliirhor  in  Heaven:  such  thinj^s,  especially 
in  infancy,  reach  inwards  to  the  very  core  of  your  being." 

The  pedagogical  inferences  from  these  facts,  I  think,  are 
plain  enough.  The  wise  parents  who  wish  their  child's  re- 
ligion to  be  more  than  skin  deep  will  take  pains  to  let  the  little 
one  see  the  expressions  of  their  own  religion,  and  will  make 
these  expressions  more  obvious  than  they  would  otherwise  be. 
The  psychologv'  of  religion  might  have  a  good  deal  to  say  in 
favor  of  the  resumption  of  the  old  customs  of  family  prayers, 
the  saying  of  grace  at  meal  time,  and  other  modes  of  religious 
expressions  which  our  fathers  practiced  and  which  so  many  of 
us  have  outgro\vn.  Wherever  children  are  growing  up,  the  out- 
ward expression  of  the  religious  attitude  is  simply  not  to  be 
replaced  by  anything  else.  The  child's  observation  of  these 
actions  and  his  spontaneous  attempts  to  imitate  them  will  more- 
over make  the  best  possible  preparation  for  the  more  explicit 
inculcation  of  religious  ideas.  This  direct  teaching  should  be 
given  only  in  connection  with  the  indirect  influence  just  de- 
scribed, and  should  at  first  be  based  as  much  as  possible  upon 
the  child's  own  curiosity  concerning  the  significance  of  his  par- 
ents' acts  and  attitudes.  Doubtless  the  seed  is  the  word ;  but 
there  is  little  use  in  sowing  the  seed  before  the  soil  has  been 
prepared  for  it. 

Yet  I  would  by  no  means  minimize  the  importance  of  direct 
teaching.  Religion  if  it  is  to  be  a  real  force  in  life,  must  be 
more  than  implicit.  And  of  course,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  re- 
ligious instruction  cannot  be  withheld  from  a  child  to-day,  unless 
he  be  stone  deaf,  and  perhaps  blind  also.  If  his  parents  do  not 
teach  him  religious  conceptions,  his  companions  will,  and  if 
these  hold  their  peace,  the  very  labels  on  canned  goods  will 
break  forth  into  theology.^  And  so  we  find  that  the  child's 
explicit  ideas  on  religious  matters  are  simply  a  compound  of 
what  he  has  understood  from  the  various  sources  of  his  in- 
struction, modified  unintentionally  by  the  working  of  his  own 

6  "  One  boy  says  he  got  his  ideas  of  the  devil  from  a  Punch  and  Judy 
show,  two  say  their  ideas  of  the  devil  came  from  the  pictures  on  deviled 
ham,  several  mention  the  hired  girl  as  authority,  and  a  large  number  say 
their  ideas  came  from  pictures." —  Earl  Barnes,  "  Theological  Life  of  a 
California  Child."     Pedagogical  Seminary  II,  448. 


THE  EELIGIOIsr  OF  CHILDHOOD  97 

imagination.  The  importance  of  the  latter  is  often  much 
greater  than  is  commonly  supposed.  Where,  for  instance,  did 
a  six  year  old  friend  of  mine  get  this  notion  ?  —  that  '^  God  is 
a  face  of  a  man  with  big  ears.  He  doesn't  eat  anything  but 
only  drinks  dew  "  ?  The  possibility  that  the  child  may  mis- 
understand absolutely  anything  that  is  told  him,  no  matter  how 
simple  it  may  seem  to  his  older  instructors,  must  also  be  taken 
into  account  in  explaining  the  strange  ideas  that  get  mixed  up 
in  his  theology  and  the  incomprehensible  nature  of  some  of  his 
ritual  of  worship.  Father  Tyrrell,  speaking  of  his  own  child- 
hood, says,  in  his  Autobiography,  '''  Jesus-Tend erj  Shepherd- 
hear-me '  were  two  polysyllables  for  me  for  many  years,  and  it 
is  even  now  an  effort  to  analyze  them ;  and  Rocka  Vages  has  as- 
sociations that  ^  Rock  of  AQ:es  '  can  never  have.  I  like  the 
old  readings  better,"  he  adds ;  "  sentiment  is  more  precious 
than  sense."  "^ 

If  we  take  into  account  the  instruction  which  the  child  re- 
ceives in  theological  matters  from  parents,  servants,  playmates, 
teachers,  preachers,  books,  and  pictures,  and  add  to  that  his 
inevitable  misunderstanding  of  much  that  is  taught  him,  and  his 
own  imaginative  contribution  produced  in  the  process  of  men- 
tal digestion,  we  shall  understand  the  strange  mixture  of  com- 
mon-place ideas  and  fantastic  imagery  which  characterizes  the 
child's  theology*  It  will,  therefore,  be  quite  unnecessary  here 
to  describe  at  length  children's  ideas  of  God  or  to  quote  par- 
ticular statements  of  particular  children  concerning  Heaven, 
Hell,  etc. ;  the  reader  who  so  wishes  may  read  long  and  in- 
teresting compilations  of  them  in  many  places,  references  to 
the  most  important  of  which  he  will  find  in  a  note  at  the  foot 
of  this  page.^ 

^  "  Autobiography  and  Life  of  George  Tyrrell,"  arranged  by  M.  D.  Petre, 
(New  York,  Longmans:   1912).     Vol.  I,  p.  16. 

8  Barnes,  Earl,  ''  Theological  Life  of  a  California  Child,"  Ped.  Sem.  II, 
442-448. 

Bergen,  F.  D.,  "  Notes  on  the  Theological  Development  of  a  Child,"  Arena, 
XIX,  254-266. 

Brockman,  F.  S.,  "  A  Study  of  the  Moral  and  Religious  Life  of  251 
Preparatory  School  Students  in  the  United  States,"  Ped.  Sem.  255-273. 

Brown,  A.  W.,  "  Some  Records  of  the  Thoughts  and  Reasonings  of  Chil- 
dren," Ped.  Sem.  II,  358-390. 

Chrisman,  0.,  "  Religious  Ideas  of  a  Child,"  Child  Study  Monthly,  March, 
1898. 


98  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

I  have  spoken  of  the  development  of  the  child's  own  mind  as 
one  of  the  three  great  factors  in  the  formation  of  his  theology. 
The  instinct* of  curiositv  with  which  Nature  has  endowed  him 
sets  him  verv  early  to  wondering  and  to  questioning  himself 
and  others,  and  increasing  experience  and  intelligence  soon 
make  it  impossible  for  the  answers  to  his  questions  and  the 
solutions  of  his  problems  to  be  stated  in  terms  of  father  or 
mother  or  of  the  social  circle  immediately  open  to  his  percep- 
tion. His  dependence  upon  his  father  and  mother  is  no  longer 
felt  as  ultimate;  there  is  a  sense  of  a  Beyond,  a  farther  power  or 
group  of  powers  on  which  they  too,  with  him,  depend.  This 
sense  of  something  more  is  at  first  implicit  only,  but  quite 
early  it  becomes  explicit  —  being  hastened  in  its  growth  by  the 
influence  and  teaching  of  others.  Just  when  thought  in  this 
form  makes  its  first  appearance,  it  is  of  course  impossible  to 
say  with  exactness,  but  in  an  incipient  form  it  may  be  present 
by  the  end  of  the  third  year.  And  theology  is  often  the  child's 
first  science.  His  persistent  questioning  repeatedly  drives  his 
interlocutor  back  to  God  as  the  ultimate  explanation  of  most 
things,  and  so  the  little  mind,  now  very  alert,  finds  in  God  a 
new  and  intellectual  satisfaction.  To  be  sure,  even  God  is 
often  not  really  ultimate  for  the  child,  for  he  must  be  told 
who  made  God:  yet  on  the  whole  he  finds  in  Him  the  most 

Coe,  G.  A..  "  Origin  and  Nature  of  Children's  Faith  in  God,"  Am.  Jour. 
of  TheoL,  XVIII,  169-90. 

Ebell,  "  Der  Himmel  in  der  Gedankenwelt  10-und  ll-jahriger  Kinder," 
Monatsbliitter  fiir  den  Evangelischen  Religionsunterricht,  Aug.-Sept.,  1911, 
pp.  252-254. 

Hall,  G.  Stanley,  "  The  Contents  of  Children's  Minds,"  Princeton  Rev.^ 
N.  S.,  XI,  249  ff. 

Pratt,  J.  B.,  "The  Ppychology  of  Religious  Belief"  (New  York,  Mac- 
millan:    1907),  Chap.  VII. 

Schreiber,  H.,  "Der  Kinderglaube  "  (Langensalza,  1909)   pp.  29-39. 

Shepherd,  "  Concerning  the  Religion  of  Childhood,"  Jour,  of  Relig.  Pay., 
VII,  411-16. 

Sliinn,  Millicent  W.,  "Notes  on  the  Development  of  a  Child"  (Berkeley, 
Univ.  of  California:   1894). 

Shinn,  "  Some  Comments  on  Babies,"  Overland  Monthlxfy  N.  S.,  XXXII, 
2-19. 

Street,  J.  R.,  "The  Religion  of  Childhood,"  Zton's  Herald  (Boston) 
LXXVIII,  108-109,  118-119.     See  also  Homiletie  Review,  LV,  371-375. 

Sully,  J.,  "Studies  in  Childhood"   (New  York,  Appleton:  1896). 

Tanner,  Amy  E.,  "Children's  Religious  Ideas,"  Ped.  Sem.,  XIII,  511-513. 


THE  EELIGION  OF  CHILDHOOD  99 

satisfactory  answer  to  his  questions.  Thus  the  cosmological  ar- 
gument comes  to  be  the  one  great  theological  argument  of  child- 
hood. This  is  due  not  only  to  the  development  of  the  child's 
intelligence  but  also  to  the  fact  that  at  the  same  time  with  it 
his  activity  and  his  interest  in  activity  are  rapidly  growing. 
He  wants  to  know  how  things  are  made  and  who  made  them  and 
why.  The  two  great  categories  of  explanation  —  the  causal  and 
the  teleological  —  are  now  developing  (from  the  third  year  on- 
ward) pari  passu,^  and  both  of  them  are  important  factors  in 
leading  the  child's  mind  to  the  conception  of  a  Creator  who 
made  things  and  people  for  various  purposes. 

But  while  thought  plays  a  role  of  more  or  less  importance  in 
coloring  the  nature  of  the  child's  religious  belief,  it  is  extremely 
seldom  that  it  adds  very  much  to  the  strength  of  his  conviction. 
The  child's  theology,  like  the  rest  of  his  store  of  beliefs,  is  em- 
phatically based  on  authority.  The  reason  for  this  is  of  course 
plain  enough,  and  is  to  be  sought  in  the  very  nature  of  the 
child's  mind  —  in  fact  in  the  nature  of  mind  as  such.  Im- 
plicit belief,  the  unquestioning  acceptance  of  the  presented,  is 
the  natural  reaction  of  the  virgin  mind.  It  is  as  important 
a  characteristic  of  it  as  is  the  tendency  to  imitation,  discussed  a 
few  pages  back.  In  fact  these  two  qualities  of  the  mind  before 
it  has  been  moulded  and  re-formed  by  experience, —  its  "  sug- 
gestibility ''  and  its  "  primitive  credulity,"  —  are  in  a  large 
sense  aspects  of  the  same  thing.  Just  as  the  human  being 
tends  to  imitate  every  process  which  he  perceives  and  attends 
to,  so  he  tends  to  accept  as  real  everything  presented  to  him 
and  to  believe  as  true  whatever  he  is  told.  Doubt  is  necessarily 
a  secondary  phenomenon  —  it  presupposes  at  least  two  rival 
claimants  for  belief  both  of  which  cannot  be  accepted  as  true. 
That  there  can  be  such  discord  is  something  which  the  child 
learns  only  after  bitter  and  surprising  experience.  His  mind 
at  first  offers  no  resistance  to  new  ideas  nor  ever  asks  their  cre- 
dentials. Whether  they  come  from  parent,  hired-girl,  or  Punch- 
and-Judy  show,  they  are  admitted  as  "  Gospel  Truth."     Hence 

9  According  to  Baldwin  the  causal  develops  before  the  teleological,  but 
the  causal  explanation  is  usually  given  in  terms  of  personal  activity.     See 
"  Social  and  Ethical  Interpretations,"  pp.  346-49.     In  Leuba's  opinion  the 
child's  category  of  causality  has  not  necessarily  anything  to  do  with  per 
Bonality.     See  "  A  Psychological  Study  of  Religion,"  p.  79. 


100  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

the  religion  of  childhood  is  based  on  authority  in  a  perfectly 
absolute  sense.*"  And  so  it  continues  to  be  until  at  length  the 
child's  attention  is  called  to  the  fact  of  conflict  between  two  en- 
tering ideas,  or  more  likely  between  some  new  idea  and  some 
old  belief.  When  this  day  cornea,  the  child  begins  to  say  Fare- 
well to  his  childhood.  He  has  tasted  of  doubt,  and  he  must  now 
begin  to  add  thought  to  authority  in  his  religion  and  in  all 
his  knowledge. 
^  In  religious  matters  many  reach  adolescence  without  any 
doubts.  In  the  case  of  others  doubt  begins  quite  early.**  A. 
W.  Brown  cites  a  boy  of  three  who  had  already  developed 
enough  of  the  questioning  spirit  at  least  to  wonder  whether  his 
father  was  correct  in  saying  that  God  could  do  everything :  ''  If 
I'd   gone  upstairs,"   he   asked,    '^  could   God   make   it   that    I 

10  Father  Tyrrell  writes  of  his  own  early  religion:  "  To  say  that  I  either 
believed  or  disbelieved  in  God,  or  in  anything  else  at  that  age  would  be 
to  forget  that  for  children  the  difference  between  fact  and  fiction  is  of 
little  or  no  interest.  In  religious,  as  in  other  matters,  I  dutifully  re- 
peated the  prescribed  formulae,  and  if  I  knew  that  God  existed  and  that 
Jack  the  Giant-Killer  did  not,  it  was  only  because  I  was  told  so.  It  was 
only  this  passive  faith  in  the  words  of  others  that  made  me  afraid  of 
ghosts  and  banshees  and  of  the  dark.  The  notions  that  any  beliefs,  opin- 
ions, or  professions,  different  from  ours,  could  be  tenable  was  quite  un- 
thinkable; the  critical  and  reasoning  faculty  was  as  yet  wholly  dormant." 
Op.  cit.,  Vol.  I,  p.  48. 

11  Perhaps  earlier  and  more  often  than  we  commonly  think.  The  child's 
replies  to  the  questions  of  grown-ups  may  Ije  merely  verbal  answers  and 
hide  his  own  real  beliefs.  Friiulein  Barth  discovered  that  the  conventional 
descriptions  which  the  children  in  her  school  (of  ten  and  eleven  years)  gave 
of  Heaven,  God,  etc.,  were  regarded  by  them  as  only  *'  Miirchen."  A  little 
girl  who  had  just  described  Heaven  in  the  usual  way  added,  "  Aber  in 
Wirklichkeit  giebt  es  keinen  Himmal,  dort  oben  ist  nur  Luft  und  Wasser." 
This  position  was  found  typical  of  a  goodly  proportion  of  the  children. 
One  little  girl  gives  the  following  rather  pathetic  confession  of  faith:  "  Als 
ich  klein  war,  habe  ich  nie  an  die  Holle  geglaubt.  Aber  an  den  Himmel 
desto  mehr.  Ich  habe  gemeint,  Gott  slisse  auf  einem  Stuhl,  und  um  ihn 
alle  Engel.  Gott  habe  ich  mir  vorgestellt,  er  habe  an  alien  Seiten  Augen, 
weil  es  iramer  heisst,  er  wurde  alles  sehen.  Aber  jetzt  weiss  ich  ja,  dass 
das  Blaue  alles  nur  Luft  ist,  aber  wo  der  Liebe  Gott  hingekommen  ist, 
weiss  ich  nicht."  Another  child  answered  to  the  question,  "  What  do  you 
yourself  really  believe  about  heaven?"  as  follows:  "  VVenn  man  tot  ist, 
dann  ist  man  auch  fertig  mit  allem  Leben.  Sonst  interessiert  mich  alles 
nicht."  Friiulein  Barth  believes  that  if  this  child  had  simply  been  asked 
to  describe  heaven,  she  would  have  given  a  vivid  and  proper  account. 
("Der  Himmel  in  der  Gedankenwelt  10-und  11-jahrigen  Kinder,"  Monats- 
blatter  fiir  den  evangelischen  Religious-unterricht.  Nov.,  1911,  pp.  336- 
338.) 


THE  KELIGIOX  OF  CHILDHOOD  101 

hadn't  ? ''  Once  started,  this  unwillingness  to  accept  all  that 
one  is  told,  grows  with  increasing  experience.  According  to 
Earl  Barnes  it  culminates  with  most  children  between  the  ages 
of  twelve  and  fourteen,  after  which  comes  a  period  of  dim- 
inished critical  activity  in  religious  questions,  lasting  until  the 
great  upheaval  of  adolescence. 

Childhood  doubts  are  of  course  of  many  sorts :  but  the  great 
majority  of  them  are  due  to  one  or  the  other  of  two  great 
causes.  These  are  conflict  between  authoritative  theology  and 
the  child's  own  experience,  and  contradiction  between  the  the- 
ological ideas  taught  him  and  his  own  growing  sense  of  mor- 
ality and  justice.  I  quote  a  few  illustrations  from  my  re- 
spondents. One  of  them  writes :  "  I  doubted  very  much 
God's  answer  to  prayer.  I  wanted  very  much  a  baby  sister, 
so  I  prayed  for  one  every  night.  ]^one  came  and  for  several 
years  I  doubted  the  power  of  prayer."  Another  tells  me  that 
having  been  taught  that  the  prayer  of  faith  would  move  moun- 
tains, she  attempted  at  eight  to  make  use  of  it.  At  that  age  she 
went  with  her  parents  on  a  trip  to  the  White  Mountains,  and 
one  evening  prayed  for  three  hours  that  Mt.  Washington  might 
be  removed  into  the  sea.  The  disappointing  result  shook  her 
faith  to  such  an  extent  that  she  did  not  pray  again  all  summer.  ^^ 

12  The  question  of  prayer  probably  causes  more  childhood  questionings 
and  doubts  than  any  other  theme,  for  here  the  child  has  a  very  practical 
piece  of  theology  which  if  true  should  be  utilized,  and  one  also  very  easily 
tested.  Edmund  Gosse  has  some  charming  reminiscences  from  his  boyhood 
upon  the  subject.  "  My  parents  said :  '  Whatever  you  need,  tell  Him  and 
He  will  grant  it,  if  it  is  His  will.'  Very  well;  I  had  need  of  a  large 
pointed  humming-top  which  I  had  seen  in  a  shop-window  in  the  Calcedonian 
Road.  Accordingly  I  introduced  a  supplication  for  this  object  into  my 
evening  prayer,  carefully  adding  the  words:  'If  it  is  Thy  will.'  This,  I 
recollect,  placed  my  Mother  in  a  dilemma,  and  she  consulted  my  Father. 
Taken,  I  suppose,  at  a  disadvantage,  my  Father  told  me  I  must  not  pray 
for  '  things  like  that.'  To  which  I  answered  by  another  query,  *  Why  ? '. 
And  I  added  that  he  said  one  ought  to  pray  for  things  we  needed,  and  that 
I  needed  the  humming-top  a  great  deal  more  than  I  did  the  conversion 
of  the  heathen  or  the  restitution  of  Jerusalem  to  the  Jews,  two  objects  of 
my  nightly  supplication  which  left  me  very  cold."  This  was  during  his 
sixth  year.  At  about  the  same  time,  he  decided  to  test  his  father's  state- 
ment that  God  would  be  very  angry  and  signify  his  anger  if  any  one  in  a 
Christian  country  should  commit  idolatry.  This  he  tested  by  deliberately 
committing  the  sin  —  hoisting  a  chair  onto  the  table  and  bowing  down 
before  it  in  prayer.  "Father  and  Son."  (New  York,  Scribners:  1908) 
pp.  49  and  53. 


102  THE  KKLIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

A  third  respondent  —  also  at  the  age  of  eif^ht  —  determined  to 
put  (n)d's  forrkuowledye  to  the  test.  "  I  often  tried  to  fool 
God.  I  would  say  I  would  do  one  thinpj  and  then  suddenly 
ehanpe  and  do  something  else:  start  down  one  side  of  the 
street  and  suddenly  eross  and  go  down  the  opposite  side,  etc." 

It  is  not  this  eonflict  between  authority  and  experience,  how- 
ever, but  the  inconsistency  between  the  teachings  of  theology 
and  the  growing  sense  of  the  real  nature  of  goodness  and  jus- 
tice that  gives  rise  to  the  more  serious  doubts  in  the  minds 
of  the  thoughtful  child.  A  typical  expression  of  this  sort  of 
questioning  is  the  following  response :  "  It  didn't  seem  to  me 
possible  that  a  God  who  had  made  us  so  prone  to  sin  could 
punish  us  so  severely  as  was  taught."  And  this  (from  a  girl 
of  ten) :  "  Mama,  God  must  have  known  that  Adam  and  Eve 
would  eat  that  apple,  and  they  couldn't  help  doing  it  if  He 
planned  to  have  them  do  it.     So  why  did  He  blame  them  ?  " 

Doubts  like  these  in  early  childhood  we  can  perhaps  afford  to 
smile  at.  But  when  the  breech  between  theology,  on  the  one 
hand,  and  experience  and  moral  intuition  on  the  other  is  per- 
mitted to  continue  into  adolescence  it  becomes  a  serious  matter. 
Here  is  a  subject  for  careful  thought  on  the  part  of  parents  and 
all  those  who  have  to  do  with  the  religious  instruction  of  the 
young.  Is  there  not  enough  in  our  Christian  theology  that  we 
can  teach  our  children  without  mingling  with  it  assertions  which 
their  own  experience  can  speedily  refute,  or  characterizations 
of  God  which  their  dawning  sense  of  righteousness  finds  strange 
or  intolerable  ?  But  even  aside  from  theological  lessons  of  this 
sort,  the  attempt  to  teach  doctrine  to  children  before  they  have 
reached  the  age  of  conceptual  thought  is  of  very  questionable 
wisdom.  Surely  there  is  need  enough  for  religious  instruction 
in  other  fields  to  keep  both  teacher  and  learner  busy.  Especially 
should  it  be  impressed  upon  children  of  all  ages  that  religion  and 
morality  are  inseparable  and  that  religion  therefore  has  to  do 
with  every  moment  of  their  waking  lives  and  with  every  act  and 
thought  and  word.  It  is  perhaps  in  failing  to  do  this  that  our 
religious  instruction  is  found  most  sadly  wanting.  To  the 
ancient  world  religion  was  a  serious  business ;  to  us  modems 
it  is  in  danger  of  becoming  a  kind  of  epiphenomenon.  It  is  a 
sad  picture  which  the  Rev.  R.  Emlein,  Stadtvikar  in  Mannheim, 


THE  RELIGION  OF  CHILDHOOD  103 

presents  in  the  Zeitschrift  fur  Reltgionspsychologie — .  One 
hundred  and  four  boys,  from  twelve  to  fourteen  in  age,  after 
eight  years  of  religious  instruction,  are  set  to  answer  the  ques- 
tion :  "  What  value  has  religion  ?  "  "  Out  of  the  one  hundred 
and  four,  sixty-six  begin :  '  Religion  has  absolutely  no  value/ 
Fifty-eight  subjoin  the  reason:  *  Because  we  can't  use  it  in 
our  business.'  Twenty-five  see  in  religion  some  sort  of  ideal 
value,  to  be-^sure,  which  yet  is  minimized  by  all  sorts  of  limita- 
tions, since  religion  is  useful  only  ^  when  you  are  old/  or  ^  when 
things  are  going  wrong  with  you,'  or  ^  when  you  are  away  from 
home.'  Finally  a  few,  thirteen  in  number,  regard  religion  as 
something  which  ^  you  must  know  because  it  is  God's  word,'  or 
*  because  you  can't  go  to  Heaven  without  it.'  " 

These  last  years  of  childhood  are  critical  for  religion,  and  as 
Herr  Emlein  so  well  points  out,  the  kind  of  religious  instruction 
which  the  child  gets  at  this  time  may  be  decisive  for  the  rest 
of  his  life.  "  It  is  the  time  when  the  childish  fancy  gradually 
sinks  and  is  replaced  by  the  critical,  reflective  understanding. 
It  is  the  time  of  transition  from  the  Old  to  the  New.  Hence 
the  enormous  importance  of  this  period  to  the  teacher,  for  it  is 
his  task  to  lay  the  foundations  of  this  New  which  is  to  be.  It 
is  for  to  him  to  say  what  stones  of  the  old  building  may  be  used 
for  the  new,  and  above  all  to  determine  how  the  new  building- 
material  —  the  understanding  —  is  to  be  utilized.  ...  It 
would  be  interesting  to  discover  how  often  theoretical  and  prac- 
tical atheism  has  its  ultimate  source  exactly  in  religious  instruc- 
tion itself  which  has  neglected  to  make  a  bridge  between  critical 
understanding  and  religion."  ^^ 

We  often  fail  to  realize  how  critical  and  still  more  how  com- 
plex these  years  at  the  end  of  childhood  are.  We  have  both 
idealized  and  simplified  childhood,  and  neglecting  both  our  own 
memories  and  any  careful  investigation  of  children's  minds, 

13  "  Vom  Kinderglauben,"  Zeitschrift  fiir  Religionspsychologie,  V,  141- 
148.  For  some  excellent  observations  on  the  subject  of  religions  instruction 
see:  Coe,  "Education  in  Religion  and  Morals;"  Dawson,  "Children's  Inter- 
est in  the  Bible,"  Ped.  Sem.,  VII,  151-178  (esp.  pp.  176-178);  Hall, 
"Educational  Problems"  (New  York,  Appleton:  1911),  Chap.  IV;  Rottger, 
"  Die  Religion  des  Kindes,"  Zeitschrift  f.  Relspsy.  VI,  208-302 :  Starbuck, 
"The  Child-mind  and  Child  Religion,"  Part  IV.  "The  Development  of 
Spirituality,"  Biblical  World,  XXX,  352-60 ;  Willuhn,  "  Die  Psychologic  der 
Kinderpredigt,'*  Ztsft  f.  Relspsy.  II,  334-340. 


104  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

we  have  constniotod  an  idylic  picture,  which  we  name  "  Child- 
liood,''  out  of  children's  unwrinkled  faces  and  their  lively  games. 

riius  liappiness,  inn(X*ence,  and  a  purely  ol)jective  consciousness 
are  thought  to  be  the  peculiar  characteristics  of  the  child  up  to, 
say,  his  fourteenth  year.  This  grown-up  view  of  the  child  is 
prohnhly  about  as  accurate  as  the  child's  notion  of  the  grown-up. 
Children  are  often  very  unhappy;  in  fact  a  sensitive  child  may 
be  as  utterly  wretched  half  a  dozen  times  in  one  day  as  his 
father  is  during  the  course  of  a  year.  He  believes  his  father 
is  never  unhap]\v,  because  his  father  never  cries;  and  his  logic 
is  at  least  as  good  as  ours.  Nor  are  children,  say  from  eight  to 
fourteen,  by  any  means  so  innocent  as  we  like  to  think  them. 
Many  of  them  consciously  break  more  moral  laws  than  they 
ever  will  in  mature  life.  And,  accompanying  these  actions, 
goes  often  a  sense  of  sin  and  an  inward  tumult  which  we  never 
guess  because  they  are  deliberately  hidden  from  all  of  us  out- 
siders. ^'  ^fy  outside  life,"  writes  Prof.  Jones  of  his  o\vn  boy- 
hood, "  was  just  like  that  of  any  healthy  growing  boy.  I 
played  boy's  games,  learned  to  swim  and  dive,  and  in  the  times 
between  I  went  to  school  and  worked  on  the  farm.  It  looked 
from  the  outside  as  though  this  made  up  the  whole  of  my 
life.  But  looked  at  from  within,  my  life  was  mostly  an  invisi- 
ble battle.  More  real  than  the  snow  fort  which  we  stormed 
amid  a  flight  of  snow-balls  until  we  dislodged  the  possessors 
of  it,  was  this  unseen  stronghold  of  an  enemy  who  was  dislodged 
only  to  come  back  into  his  fort  stronger  than  ever,  so  that  my 
assaults  seemed  fruitless  and  vain.  ...  I  never  talked  with 
anyone  about  my  troubles,  and  I  do  not  believe  those  nearest 
me  realized  that  I  was  having  a  crisis,  for  there  was  no  outward 
sign  of  it.  This  whole  situation,  now  so  hard  to  describe 
clearly,  would  hardly  be  worth  telling  about,  and  would  cer- 
tainly not  here  come  to  light,  if  it  were  not  for  the  fact  that  it 
is  an  experience  which  is  well-nigh  universal,  and  one  which 
needs  more  attention  than  it  usually  gets.  Boys  are  much 
deeper,  much  better,  than  even  their  mothers  know,  and  down 
below  what  they  say,  is  a  center  of  life  which  never  is  wholly 
silent."  1* 

i*"A  Boy's  Religion  from  Memory"    (Philadelphia,  Ferris  and  Leach: 
1902),  pp.  102,  109,  and  141. 


THE  KELIGION  OF  CHILDHOOD  105 

This  inner  life  of  the  boy  and  girl  is  of  peculiar  importance 
in  relation  to  their  religion.  The  question  of  the  presence  of 
religious  feeling  in  children  is  extremely  difficult.  Anything 
like  statistical  conclusions  is  here  of  course  quite  inconceivable, 
and  one  can  only  say,  in  the  vaguest  terms,  that  while  perhaps 
the  majority  of  children  have  relatively  little  that  is  subjective 
about  their  religion,  a  good  many*  girls  and  boys  of  eight  or  ten 
have  an  inner  life  of  intense  and  genuine  religious  feeling. 
This  does  not  mean  that  children  are  mystics ;  the  feeling  in 
question  may  be  one  of  fear  or  awe  toward  a  distant  and  rather 
dreadful  Ruler.  But  even  so  it  makes  the  child's  religion  some- 
thing more  than  mere  "  primitive  credulity.''  God  becomes  a 
reality  and  a  power  in  life  quite  comparable  with  father  and 
mother.  "  Thou,  God,  seest  me  "  is  a  very  impressive  thought 
to  many  little  children.  And  between  the  years  of  ten  and 
thirteen  or  even  eight  and  thirteen,  many  a  child  goes  through 
one  or  more  violently  emotional  religious  upsets.  I  quote  at 
length  one  example,  from  one  of  my  respondents : 

"  The  first  real  self-conscious  experience  of  this  kind  was 
connected  with  the  realization  that  I,  actually  myself,  would 
some  day  die  and  give  an  account  of  myself  before  God,  whom  I 
pictured  to  myself  with  great  realism.  I  had  taken  the  whole 
thing  for  gi-anted  before,  but  never  actually  felt  that  I  myself 
would  have  this  experience,  and  it  gave  me  a  feeling  as  if  I  were 
suddenly  having  my  very  soul  laid  bare.  I  think  this  was  when 
I  was  about  eleven  or  twelve  years  old.  This  was  the  first  '  ex- 
perience '  I  can  remember,  and  was  not  at  all  of  the  comfort- 
ing, but  rather  of  the  fearful  order, —  the  whirlwind  instead  of 
the  still  small  voice.  I  was  old  for  my  age  in  many  respects, 
which  may  explain  its  coming  so  young.  The  experience  came 
in  the  weekly  church  prayer-meeting,  which  I  attended  since  I 
was  the  minister's  daughter,  but  I  was  not  in  the  least  in  a  re- 
ligious mood  at  the  time.  I  remember  everything  about  it  — 
the  warm,  sultry  summer  evening,  the  subject  of  the  service, 
*  Profanity,'  the  old  deacon  who  was  speaking  and  to  whom  I 
had  not  been  paying  attention,  the  girl  with  whom  I  was  sitting 
and  with  whom  I  had  been  whispering.     I  remember  even  the 


lOG  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

color  and  pattern  of  her  dress  —  and  how  in  the  first  dazed  feel- 
ing of  the  experience  I  wondered  how  anyone  could  care  about 
havini2:  a  pattern  of  roses  on  a  dress,  when  she  was  really  only  a 
skeleton  inside!  The  ploom  of  this  s\idden  revelation  of  the 
shortness  and  unsatisfactoriness  of  life  hunjij  over  me  for  some 
time,  and  althouc:h  I  look  upon  the  whole  period  as  a  morbid 
and  even  superstitious  one,  it  did  bring  me  up  standing  and 
threw  me  into  a  search  for  something  that  would  satisfy,  and 
in  time  my  healthy  temper  reasserted  itself.  The  facts  of  my 
whole  early  trainin^:  and  habits  of  course  determined  the  method 
that  I  sought  for  escape  from  such  a  struggle  of  mind,  but  this 
was  certainly  the  turning  point  when  I  began  to  take,  in  a  volun- 
tary serious  manner,  what  before  had  come  with  no  will  or  con- 
sideration on  my  part  at  all.'' 

Besides  feelings  of  the  more  fearful  order,  religion  produces 
in  many  children  a  sense  of  quiet  joy  and  confidence  and  of 
friendship  toward  God.     In  some  ways  this  is  easier  for  chil- 
dren than  for  their  elders.    The  imagination  in  these  early  years 
is  extremely  vivid,  and  everyone  knows  children  who  have  imag- 
inary friends  and  spend  much  of  their  time  playing  and  talking 
with  them.     Now  for  many  a  child  God  is  simply  one  of  these 
friends.     "  God  was  just  as  real  a  being  to  me,"  says  Professor 
Jones,  in  the  little  book  already  cited,  "  all  through  my  boy- 
hood as  was  any  one  of  the  persons  in  our  nearest  neighbor's 
house."  ^^     The  result  of  this  ideal  intimacy  with  God  is  in- 
evitably a  very  genuine  if  child-like  love  for  Him,  and  a  feel- 
ing of  confidence,  since  He  is  near.     A  lady  of  my  acquaintance 
recently  overheard  a  conversation  between  her  two  boys  in  which 
the  younger  asked  his  older  brother  (aged  eight)  how  he  knew 
that  God  heard  his  prayers.     The  boy  answered,  ^'  Because  I 
feel  Him  in  my  heart."     There  was  nothing  mysterious  about 
this;  he  had  always  been  told  that  God  was  in  him,  and  his 
first  lesson  in  religion  from  his  mother  had  been  that  God  was 
the  part  of  him  that  loves.     It  is  from  perfectly  natural  begin- 
nings like  this  —  the  product  of  instruction  and  of  the  child's 
own  nature  —  that   something  like  an  incipient  mystic  sense 
takes  its  rise  in  some  children.     I  mean  by  this  what  might  be 
called  a  sense  of  God's  presence  resulting  naturally  (in  thought- 

15  p.  97. 


THE  KELIGION  OF  CHILDHOOD  107 

ful  and  sensitive  children)  from  the  belief  in  God's  presence 
but  quite  distinguishable  in  intensity  and  feeling  tone  from  mere 
belief.  Out  of  fifty  of  my  respondents  who  claim  to  be  able  to 
date  the  origin  of  this  experience  in  their  own  lives,  twenty- 
nine  insist  that  it  goes  back  to  the  twelfth  or  thirteenth  year  or 
earlier.  Nearly  all  say  that  it  was  a  gradual  growth,  though 
with  a  very  few  it  appeared  suddenly.  The  descriptions  of  this 
experience  offer  nothing  striking  but  show  merely  a  natural  de- 
velopment out  of  what  was  there  before.  "  At  eight  I  felt  that 
God  was  with  me.  It  was  much  the  same  feeling  as  toward  a 
very  dear  and  trusted  friend.  I  thought  God  was  watching  my 
life  and  helping  me."  "  One  morning  when  I  was  praying  I 
felt  aware  that  I  was  talking  to  a  real  Presence  in  quite  a 
different  way  from  anything  I  had  ever  felt  before.  It  was  not 
like  a  vision  but  just  a  sense  of  infinite  Presence.  It  comes 
since,  more  strong,  but  only  at  times :  I  was  twelve  then."  ^^ 

Many  children,  probably  a  large  majority,  grow  out  of  child- 
hood with  no  such  religious  feeling  as  that  described.  For 
them  God  is  a  reality  in  the  way  the  President  is,  but  in  no 
more  intimate  sense.  This  may  be  true  even  of  those  who  after- 
wards become  men  of  intense  religious  feeling  —  as  for  instance 
Father  Tyrrell,  who  simply  "  repeated  dutifully  the  prescribed 
formulae,"  and  who  "  knew  that  God  existed  and  that  Jack 
the  Giant  Killer  did  not,"  only  because  he  was  told  so.  And 
even  for  those  children  whose  religion  is  of  a  more  inward  na- 
ture, religious  feeling  is  still  far  from  attaining  its  climax. 
The  beauty  of  the  religion  of  childhood  lies  chiefly  in  its  prom- 
ise and  potency.  It  looks  for  its  fulfillment  to  adolescence  and 
maturity,  which  we  shall  study  in  our  next  chapter. 

18  See  also  the  much  more  instructive  case  cited  at  length  in  my  "  Psy- 
chology of  Religious  Belief,  pp.  225-226. 


CHAPTER  VI 

ADOLESCENCE 

The  period  extending  from  approximately  the  twelfth  to 
the  twenty-fifth  year,  commonly  called  adolescence,  is  the  flower- 
inir  time  for  religion,  as  for  most  other  things  in  human  life. 
It  is  not  the  time  of  fruitage;  that  comes  later  on.  But  much 
that  is  most  fragrant  and  attractive  in  the  religious  life  comes 
out  for  the  first  time  in  these  youthful  years.  The  transition 
from  childhood  to  adolescence,  though  not  sudden  enough  to  be 
capable  of  an  exact  date,  is  the  most  momentous  change  in  the 
whole  life  of  the  individual.  It  is,  in  fact,  nothing  less  than 
a  new  birth  into  a  larger  world.  The  child  is  made  over  physi- 
cally and  spiritually.  For  the  first  time  he  comes  into  posses- 
sion of  all  his  bodily  functions,  and  at  the  same  time  new  vistas 
open  out  before  his  intellect  and  his  imagination,  and  he  dis- 
covers within  himself  ungucssed  intensities  of  emotion  and  de- 
sire. The  result  is  that  strange  mingling  of  vision  and  con- 
fusion, of  the  sense  of  power  and  the  despair  of  weakness,  of 
noble  aspirations  and  undreamed  of  temptations,  that  conflict 
of  joy  and  pain,  of  sin  and  exaltation,  which  make  youth  a 
period  of  never-failing  fascination  for  the  student  of  human 
nature. 

'No  other  period  is  so  fateful  in  its  influence  upon  the  whole 
of  life.  The  line  of  direction  which  the  individual  is  to  follow 
through  all  his  years  is  usually  determined  in  this  critical 
period.  All  sorts  of  things  are  to  be  done  at  this  time  or  not 
at  all :  but  these  many  things  may  perhaps  be  subsumed  under 
the  four  following  great  tasks  which  nature  sets  each  youth  dur- 
ing these  busy  years;  (1)  to  develop  to  the  full  the  powers 
and  functions  of  his  body,  (2)  to  come  into  possession  of  his 
intellectual  heritage  and  make  it  over  into  his  own  property, 
(3)  to  adapt  himself  to  the  society  of  which  he  is  now  (for  the 
first  time)  a  real  member,  and  —  what  in  a  sense  includes  all 

the  others  —  (4)  to  grow  out  of  thinghood  into  selfhood. 

108 


ADOLESCENCE  109 

The  religious  life  of  the  adolescent  is  as  full  of  ups  and  downs 
as  is  the  rest  of  his  experience  during  these  tumultuous  years. 
Starhuck,  whose  treatment  of  adolescence  and  its  religion  is 
in  most  respects  admirable,  has  attempted  to  classify  these 
conflicting  experiences  and  determine  the  approximate  average 
age  at  which  each  appears.  Thus  a  period  of  "  clarification  " 
often  comes  at  the  end  of  childhood,  followed  by  "  spontaneous 
awakening  ''  at  about  fifteen.  Confusion  and  struggle  manifest 
themselves  not  chiefly  at  any  one  point  but  through  a  period  of 
years,  a  period  which  Starbuck  refers  to  as  "  storm  and  stress,", 
and  which  in  girls  begins  at  thirteen  and  a  half,  in  boys  three 
years  later.  After  "  storm  and  stress  "  comes  a  period  of  doubt, 
which  begins  oftenest  at  fifteen  or  sixteen  with  girls  ^  and  at 
eighteen  with  boys.  Doubt,  in  turn,  is  followed,  in  the  major- 
ity of  cases,  by  a  period  of  "  alienation,"  lasting  usually  for  five 
or  six  years.  ^  Starbuck's  classification  was  worked  out  care- 
fully from  the  responses  to  a  questionnaire ;  yet  it  is  doubtful 
whether  so  clean-cut  a  division  of  the  phenomena  of  adolescence 
gives  a  true  picture  of  the  reality.  It  is  too  simple,  too  dia- 
gramatic.  We  shall  better  understand  the  fluid  and  varying 
processes  of  adolescent  religion  if  we  resign  the  ambitious  task 
of  schematizing  it,  and  content  ourselves  with  the  more  blurred 
and  vaguer  picture  of  the  young  being  moving  about  in  worlds 
not  realized,  and  going  through  two  great  sets  of  experiences 
which  tend  to  alternate  with  each  other,  one  of  increasing  in- 
sight, power,  and  joy,  one  of  bewilderment,  passivity,  and  de- 
pression. The  more  positive  and  joyous  of  these  two  types  of 
experience  may  be  said,  in  a  general  way,  to  consist  in  an  im- 
mediate realization  and  appropriation  of  the  facts  of  religion 
which  during  childhood  had  been  quite  unknown  to  him  or  at 
best  had  been  accepted  quite  externally.^     God  now  ceases  to  be 

1  See  also  Latimer,  "Girl  and  Woman"  (New  York,  Appleton:  1910) 
pp.  41-45. 

2  It  should  be  stated  that  this  classification,  with  the  various  ages  indi- 
cated, is  given  by  Starbuck  only  for  the  non-conversion  cases.  As  we  shall 
see,  conversion,  in  his  opinion,  shortens  up  the  process.  His  figures,  etc., 
as  quoted  in  this  paragraph,  are  from  Part  I  of  his  "  Psychology  of  Re- 
ligion "  (New  York,  Scribners:   1903). 

3  For  example,  a  respondent  of  Lancaster  writes:  "At  fourteen  or  fifteen 
I  became  a  Christian.  I  can  give  no  cause  for  the  change.  I  then  seemed 
to  realize  for  the  first  time  all  the  truths  that  had  been  presented  before." 


110  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

on  a  par  with  the  President,  and  to  many  a  youth  becomes  in- 
deed the  p^eat  Companion.  This  heightened  reality  and  in- 
wardness of  religion  expresses  itself  to  some  extent  both  emo- 
tionally, intellectually,  and  morally,  though  of  course  the  place 
of  emphasis  will  vary  with  the  individual.  Naturally  this  is 
a  point  on  which  the  sexes  tend  to  diflFer.  ^'  It  is  significant," 
writes  Starbuck,  ''  that  girls  first  awaken  most  frequently  on 
the  emotional  side  and  least  often  to  new  insight  into  truth. 
The  boys,  on  the  contrary,  have  the  emotional  awakening  least 
frequently,  but  organize  their  spiritual  world  most  often  as  a 
moral  one."  * 

This  enlargement  of  horizon  characteristic  of  the  adolescent 
period  is  in  part  the  direct  outgrowth  of  a  new  sense  of  self 
and  a  new  interest  in  other  persons.  The  youth  has  now  for 
the  first  time  become  a  complete  person,  and  as  he  himself  has 
changed,  all  the  world  has  changed  to  him.  All  the  factors  of 
developing  manhood  and  womanhood  contribute  toward  this 
deeper  interest  in  persons,  but  especially  notable  are  the  in- 
direct influences  of  the  sexual  instinct,  now  for  the  first  time 
fully  developed.  It  is  very  easy  to  overemphasize  the  import- 
ance of  this  instinct  in  the  religious  life,  and  I  would  not, 
therefore,  dwell  upon  it  here  at  length ;  but  that  its  indirect 
influence  during  adolescence  is  considerable  there  is  no  deny- 
ing. I  would,  however,  stress  the  fact  that  its  influence  is 
chiefly  indirect  and  unconscious,  and  as  such  it  adds  much  that 
is  fine  and  spiritual  to  the  brighter  side  of  adolescent  develop- 
ment.^ 

This  is  a  very  typical  case.  See  Lancaster's  "  Psychology  and  Pedagogy 
of  Adolescence,"  (Ped.  Sem.  V,  July,  1897,  p.  96).  For  further  study  of 
adolescent  religion,  in  addition  to  Starbuck  and  Lancaster,  the  reader  will 
find  the  following  references  useful :  Brockman,  "  A  study  of  the  Moral 
and  Religious  Life  of  251  Preparatory  School  Students  in  the  United 
States,"  (Ped.  Sem.  IX,  255-273)  ;  Coe,*"The  Spiritual  Life,"  (New  York, 
Eaton  and  Mains:  1900)  ;  Coe,  "Education  in  Religion  and  Morals,"  (Chi- 
cago, Revell:  1904)  ;  Daniels,  "The  New  Life:  A  Study  in  Regeneration," 
{Am.  Jour,  of  Psy.  VI,  61-103)  ;  Gulick,  "Sex  and  Religion,"  (Association 
Outlook,  1807-98)  ;  Hall,  "Adolescence"  (New  York,  Appleton:  1904)  ;  Vol. 
II,  Chaps.  13  and  14;  Leuba,  "The  Psychology  of  Religious  Phenomena," 
Am.  Jour,  of  Psy.  VII,  309-385. 

*  Op.  cit.,  p.  198. 

5  The  reader  will  find  an  excellent  analysis  of  these  indirect  influences  of 
sex  upon  the  brighter  side  of  adolescence  in  Coe's  "  Psychology  of  Religion," 
pp.  163-G6. 


ADOLESCEITCE  111 

The  negative  and  painful  experiences  of  adolescence  are  more 
complex  than  the  joyous  ones.  As  we  have  seen,  Starbuck 
classifies  most  of  them  under  two  heads  —  "  storm  and  stress  " 
and  "  doubt " ;  and  while  it  is  misleading  to  make  this  a  sharp 
division  and  to  assign  definite  dates  to  each  so  as  to  imply  that 
one  is  finished  before  the  other  begins,  still  the  distinction  is 
useful  for  purposes  of  presentation  —  as  indeed  Starbuck's  ad- 
mirable presentation  most  abundantly  shows.  The  term 
"  storm  and  stress  "  is  used  to  indicate  the  less  intellectual 
forms  of  the  adolescent  turmoil.  It  includes  such  mental 
states  as  a  vague  sense  of  incompleteness,  indefinable  aspira- 
tions and  dissatisfactions,  a  sense  of  sin  sometimes  exceedingly 
vague,  sometimes  quite  definite,  varying  from  the  consciousness 
of  some  particular  offense  to  the  indefinite  conviction  of  having 
committed  "  the  unpardonable  sin,"  exhausting  struggle  be- 
tween high  ideals  and  tempestuous  passions,  morbid  depres- 
sion, and  fear  of  eternal  damnation. 

The  causes  of  these  tumultuous  religious  experiences  are 
varied.  One  school  of  psychologists  —  or  rather  of  alienists  — 
would  explain  them  entirely  by  reference  to  sexual  influences. 
The  fact  that  the  sexual  life  and  the  religious  life  get  most  of 
their  development  during  the  same  years  is  pointed  to  as  evi- 
dence of  the  erotogenesis  of  adolescent  religion.  Dr.  Theodore 
Shroeder,  one  of  the  most  enthusiastic  advocates  of  this  view, 
would  in  fact  go  so  far  as  to  insist  that  all  religion  is  ulti- 
mately reducible  to  sexual  excitement  and  sexual  ideas,^  and 

6  "  The  differential  essence  of  religion  is  always  reducible  to  a  sex  ec- 
stasy." ("  The  Protogenetic  Interpretation  of  Religion,"  Jour,  of  Rel.  Psy.y 
VII,  23.)  "  Religion  came  into  being  by  ascribing  to  the  sexual  mechanism 
a  separate,  local  intelligence,  which,  coupled  with  a  seeming  transcendence 
of  the  sex-ecstasy,  resulted  in  the  apotheosis  of  the  sex-functioning  and  the 
sexual  organs,  and  all  the  manifold  forms  of  religion  are  to  be  accounted 
for  only  as  the  diversified  products  of  evolution,  resulting  wholly  from 
physical  factors  and  forces,  operating  upon  man  under  different  conditions." 
("Erotogenesis  of  Religion,"  Alienist  and  Neurologist,  XXVIII,  August, 
1907.)  Dr.  Shroeder  has  reinforced  his  argument  in  numerous  other  arti- 
cles on  the  subject,  among  which  are  the  following:  "Religion  and  Sensu- 
alism" {Jour,  of  Relig.  Psy.,  Ill,  16-28).  "Erotogenesis  of  Religion," 
{Jour,  of  Relig.  Psy.,  V,  394-401).  "Adolescence  and  Religion,"  {Jour, 
of  Relig.  Psy.,  VI,  124-48).  There  are  many  admirable  criticisms  of  this 
extreme  view ;  for  example,  P.  Naecke,  "  Die  Angebliche  Sexuellen  Wurzel 
der  Religion,"  {Zeitschrift  f.  Relig.  Psy.,  II,  21-38),  and  (perhaps  best  of 
all)  Prof.  James's  famous  footnote  on  pages  11  and  12  of  the  "  Varieties." 


112  THE  KKLIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

much  the  same  position  (though  iiut  quite  so  extreme)  seems  to 
be  held  by  Freud  and  many  of  his  followers.  So  extreme  a 
position  as  this  will  hardly  need  any  refutation  for  the  average 
reader,  and  if  it  does  the  whole  of  this  volume  should  serve  as 
a  better  refutation  than  any  explicit  examination  of  the  thesis 
I  could  give  here  or  elsewhere.  For  if  this  book  proves  any- 
thing it  should  show  that  religion  has  not  one  but  many  roots, 
and  that  even  if  sexual  influences  have  an  important  bearing 
upon  it,  they  are  by  no  means  the  only  causes  that  are  to  be 
reckoned  with.  But  of  course  one  who  recognized  the  absurdity 
of  extreme  generalizations  such  as  that  of  Dr.  Shroeder  might 
still  insist  that  certain  aspects  of  the  religious  turmoil  of 
adolescence  were  due  solely  to  sexual  causes.  Particularly 
does  the  sense  of  guilt,  so  commonly  expressed  by  religious 
adolescents,  seem  to  be  closely  related  to  the  psychological  mani- 
festations of  the  developing  sexual  life.  Many  an  alienist,  on 
general  pathological  grounds,  considers  the  sexual  explanation 
of  these  phenomena  the  only  one  needed.^  Nor  are  we  limited 
to  considerations  of  a  general  nature  for  evidence  of  the  great 
influence  of  sexual  passion  in  the  production  of  the  sense  of 
guilt  so  characteristic  of  this  period.  The  responses  to  ques- 
tionnaires such  as  those  of  Starbuck  and  Brockman  show  that 
in  a  large  proportion  of  young  men  the  sense  of  guilt  is  in  no 

f  **  Ich  kenne  bis  jetzt  nur  eine  Quelle  eines  Schuldgefiihles,  das  man 
meinetwegen  religios  odor  transzendent  nennen  mag;  die  Onanie  und  event, 
einige  Uhnliche  sexuelle  Verfehlungen.  Wo  ich  bei  den  Kranken  ein  solchea 
Gefiihl  der  Verschuldung  analysieren  konnte,  kam  ich  auf  sexuelle  Selbst- 
vorwiirfe.  Ob  noch  anderes  dazu  geh<3rt,  und  event,  was,  das  weiss  ich  nicht. 
Sicher  aber  ist  mir,  dass,  was  bei  den  Kranken  eine  so  gross  Rolle  spielt, 
beim  Schuldgrfiihl  des  Gesundcn  nicht  nebensiichlich  sein  kann ;  denn  unsere 
psychische  Krankheitssymptome  sind  nur  Verzerrungen  odcr  Uebertroibungen 
normaler  Phiinoraene."  Professor  Bleuler  —  quoted  on  page  5  by  Dr.  Fried- 
mann  in  his  symposium  on  "  Das  religiose  Schuldbewusstsein,"  Ziacft  f. 
Relspsy.  Ill,  1-16,  April,  1909).  In  the  same  article  Dr.  C.  G.  Jung  is 
quoted  as  follows:  "  Im  Grunde  genommen  ist  das  Phiinomen  (das  re- 
ligiose Schuldfiihl)  wohl  aufzufassen  als  eine  nur  partielle,  d.h.  zum  Teil 
misgliickte  Sublimation  der  infantiler  Sexualitat.  Ein  gewisser  Betrag 
an  verdriingter  Libido,  dargestllt  durch  entsprechende  Phantasien,  ist 
stehen  geblieben  und  nach  bekanntem  ^Muster  in  Angst  konvertiert.  Die 
Natur  des  nicht  sublimierten  Restes  geht  mit  Evidenz  hervor  aus  den 
bekannten  Versuchungsszenen  der  Heiligenlegende.  All  das  ist  durch  die 
Freudsche  Psychoanalyse  iibrigens  schon  langst  nachgewiesen."     (P.  7.) 


ADOLESCEISrCE  113 

sense  imaginary  or  "  constitutional,"  but  is  merely  the  con- 
sciousness of  very  real  sexual  temptations  and  sins.* 

It  is,  however,  a  mistake  to  attribute  all  the  depression  and 
"  conviction  of  sin "  so  common  among  adolescents,  particu- 
larly in  Protestant  communities,  to  this  cause  alone.  In  fact 
it  is  doubtful  whether  it  has  any  great  influence  in  producing 
the  sense  of  imeasiness,  depression,  and  "  conviction  "  among 
adolescent  females.  Ill  health  of  any  sort  is  likely  to  produce 
depression,  and  this  is  probably  the  explanation  of  much  of 
the  morbidity  and  religious  anxiety  found  among  young  people 
of  both  sexes,  but  particularly  among  girls.  The  new  and  lofty 
aspirations  of  youth,  combined  with  the  weakness  and  weariness 
that  often  accompany  rapid  growth,  are  enough  to  account  for 
a  great  deal  of  the  sense  of  guilt.  But  one  of  the  chief  causes 
of  this  striking  phenomenon  of  adolescent  religion  as  found  in 
Protestant  countries  is  yet  to  be  mentioned.  It  is,  namely,  the 
theological  prepossessions  with  which  our  youth  are  so  often 
brought  up.  This  influence,  in  my  opinion,  has  been  pretty 
generally  underrated  by  nearly  all  the  writers  on  the  psychology 
of  religion  who  have  treated  the  subject.  The  tendency  has 
been  to  make  "  conviction  of  sin  "  a  more  normal  adolescent 
phenomenon  than  it  really  is.  The  psychological  literature  on 
this  subject  gives  the  reader  the  impression  that  the  sense  of 
guilt  belongs  naturally  to  human  nature  in  these  youthful  years ; 
and  one  is  seldom  reminded  that  this  literature  is  very  largely 
based  upon  the  biographies  of  "  evangelical "  theologians,  and 
on  the  results  of  questionnaires  which  have  been  answered  chiefly 
by  people  brought  up  to  believe  that  they  were  by  nature  poor 
sinners  and  that  "  conviction  of  sin  "  is  the  primary  condition 
of  salvation.  That  the  earnest  youth  possessed  of  views  like 
these  and  looking  in  vain  within  himself  for  a  certain  sort 

8  See  Starbuck,  op.  cit.,  p.  220,  and  Brockman,  "  A  study  of  the  Moral 
and  Religious  Life  of  251  Preparatory  School  Students  in  the  United 
States,"  particularly  pages  266-71.  These  pages  make  very  painful  reading 
and  should  give  food  for  thought  to  every  one  who  has  at  heart  the  welfare 
of  our  American  boys  and  young  men.  The  late  age  of  marriage  in 
America  and  our  comparatively  high  ideals  on  sexual  matters,  probably 
make  the  struggle  for  the  control  of  passion  that  goes  on  in  the  lives  of 
our  American  youth  more  intense  and  more  painful  than  it  is  anywhere 
else  in  the  world. 


114  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

of  ill-defined  experience  as  a  token  of  his  owti  "  change  of 
heart/'  should  regard  as  sinful  many  of  the  thoughts,  feelings, 
and  impulses  natural  to  his  years  and  should  describe  the  vague 
dissatisfactions  of  adolescence  in  the  conventional  phrases  of  a 
somewhat  mechanical  theology,  is  exactly  what  we  should  expect. 
The  following  response,  for  instance,  taken  from  Starbuck  is 
very  typical :  *'  When  about  eighteen  I  studied  and  thought 
long  on  the  question  of  sanctification.  The  experience  I  sought 
was  not  in  the  conquest  of  marked  evil  habits,  and  on  the  whole 
was  rather  vague.  Two  or  three  times  with  fear  and  nervous 
apprehension  I  took  the  start,  saying,  ^  Now  I  claim  as  mine  per- 
fect holiness';  but  I  found  nothing  different  save  a  trying 
nervous  strain  of  anxiety  and  painful  scrutiny  lest  some  shade 
of  thought  should  prove  false  my  claim  to  perfect  sanctifica- 
tion." » 

As  a  fact,  in  those  religious  communities  in  which  there  is 
no  theological  emphasis  upon  "  conviction,"  the  intensity  of 
"  storm  and  stress  "  is  greatly  diminished  and  the  nature  of  the 
struggle  considerably  modified.  Take,  for  instance,  religiously 
educated  Catholic  girls.  They  are  as  intensely  interested  in 
moral  and  religious  questions  as  any  group  of  Protestant  girls, 
they  are  as  introspective,  their  attention  is  probably  even  more 
constantly  directed  toward  the  development  and  culture  of  their 
souls ;  but  there  is  among  them  little  of  that  general  sense  of 
sinfulness  which  plays  so  large  a  part  in  "  evangelistic  "  ex- 
perience —  and  in  contemporary  religious  psychology.  Catho- 
lic girls  recognize  perfectly  well  their  own  imperfections  and 
they  struggle  constantly  for  moral  improvement;  but  both  the 
short  comings  which  they  realize  and  the  goal  which  they  seek 
are  perfectly  definite  things.  They  are  struggling  not  for 
"  peace  of  mind  "  or  any  other  emotional  state,  nor  for  "  sanc- 
tification "  or  any  other  ill-defined  theological  condition  of  soul, 
but  for  the  overcoming  of  some  particular  weakness  or  the 
acquisi-tion  of  some  particular  grace.     The  contrast  is,  to  be 

.  sure,  in  part  one  of  relative  emphasis,  the  evangelical  youth. 

^  thinking  mostly  about  his  feelings,  the  Catholic  mostly  about 
his  character  and  "  works."  But  it  is  also  a  contrast  between 
the  vague  and  the  definite.     And  hence  it  comes  about  that 

»  Op.  cit,  p.  215. 


ADOLESCENCE  115 

the  youth  brought  up  in  evangelical  circles  is  the  subject  of 
much  painful  emotion  which  is  almost  entirely  spared  the  young 
Catholic.  Still  more  light  is  thrown  upon  the  adolescent  sense 
of  guilt  if  we  turn  from  Christendom  altogether  and  examine 
the  experience  of  religious  youths  in  such  a  deeply  religious  land 
as  India.  In  Max  Miiller's  biography  of  Ramakrishna,  for 
example,  and  in  the  autobiography  of  Devendranath  Tagore,  are 
to  be  found  vivid  accounts  of  the  religious  storm  and  stress  of 
adolescence,  full  of  dissatisfaction,  longing,  and  other  experi- 
ences conunon  to  the  adolescent  of  Protestant  Christendom ;  but 
in  spite  of  the  sensitive  conscience  of  these  truly  saintly  men 
there  is  no  evidence  of  any  sense  of  sin.^^ 

According  to  the  figures  collected  by  various  writers  on 
adolescence,  the  period  of  "doubt "  follows  that  of  "  storm  and 
stress."  And  though  as  a  fact  incursions  of  doubt  are  likely 
to  appear  at  almost  any  time  in  adolescence,  it  is  true  that  the 
climax  of  adolescent  doubt  usually  begins  after  the  more  emo- 
tional pertubations  of  "  storm  and  stress  "  have  got  well  under 
way.  This  indeed  is  natural,  since  the  more  serious  kind  of 
doubt  presupposes  greater  intellectual  development  than  is  to 
be  found  in  the  years  when  "  storm  and  stress  "  begins.  Yet 
it  would  be  a  mistake  to  regard  the  intellectual  influences  as 
the  only  causes  of  doubt.  Eor  doubt  is  a  peculiarly  adolescent 
phenomenon  and  must  be  explained  by  a  combination  of  inner 
as  well  as  of  outer  influences.  "  Looking  through  the  cases,'' 
writes  Starbuck,  "  we  find  that  almost  all  of  the  doubts  begin  be- 
tween eleven  and  twenty.  There  are  a  few  scattered  ones  during 
the  twenties,  and  almost  none  after  thirty.  The  scattered  ones 
that  come  after  twenty-six  are  so  few  as  to  tend  to  establish  the 
law  that  doubt  belongs  almost  exclusively  to  youth.  If  the  per- 
son is  thrown  into  constantly  changing  environments  during  the 
whole  period  after  adolescence  one  would  expect,  if  the  ex- 
ternal influences  were  the  only  occasion  for  doubt,  that  there 
would  be  throughout  life  a  continual  turmoil  and  upheaval. 
Since  this  is  not  the  case,  one  must  look  for  deeper  causes  than 

10  Max  Muller,  "Ramakrishna,  His  Life  and  Sayings"  (London,  Long- 
mans: 1910),  esp.  pp.  33-42.  "The  Gospel  of  Ramakrishna"  (New  York, 
Vedanta  Society:  1907).  Devendranath  Tagore,  "Autobiography"  (Cal- 
cutta, Lahiri:  1909),  esp.  pp.  4,  15  f.,  36  f. 


^ 


116  THK   KKLlOIors  CONSCIOUSNESS 

the  8ocioloi::ical  and  liistorical  ones,  and  these  are  to  be  found 
again  in  the  psycho-physiolo^iwil  orp^aiiisni."  ^^ 
.  I  am  not  sure  it  is  perfectly  correct  to  say  religious  doubt  is 
a  regular  and  inevitable  product  of  adolescence,  but  certainly 
the  tendency  to  question  authority  and  to  ask  the  reason  for 
things  is  natural  to  the  growing  mind,  and  the  combination  of 
an  enquiring  intellect  which  has  not  yet  got  its  bearings,  and  an 
authoritative  religion  which  insists  upon  an  unreasonable  ac- 
ceptance of  dogma  is  almost  certain  to  breed  religious  doubt, 
sometimes  of  a  painful  character.  But  the  pain  that  some- 
times accompanies  this  skeptical  period  should  not  blind  us  to 
its  value  as  a  discipline  for  the  sincere  and  earnest  mind. 
Havelock  Ellis  has  pointed  out  this  aspect  of  adolescent  doubt 
in  words  somewhat  exaggerated,  to  be  sure,  yet  well  worth  repe- 
tition. ''  The  man  who  has  never  wrestied  with  and  overcome 
his  early  faith,  the  faith  that  he  was  brought  with  and  that  yet 
is  not  his  own,  has  missed  not  only  a  moral  but  an  intellectual 
discipline.  The  absence  of  that  discipline  may  mar  a  man 
for  life  and  render  all  his  work  in  the  world  inefTcctive.  He 
has  missed  a  training  in  criticism,  in  analysis,  in  open-minded- 
ness,  in  the  resolutely  impersonal  treatment  of  personal  prob- 
lems, which  no  other  training  can  compensate."  ^^ 

The  great  cause  for  adolescent  doubt  is  the  inner  discord 
roused  by  some  newly  discovered  fact  which  fails  to  harmonize 
with  beliefs  previously  accepted  and  revered.  I  have  called  it 
an  inner  discord,  and  by  that  I  mean  to  emphasize  the  emotional 
as  well  as  the  intellectual  nature  of  the  experience.  The  young 
man  is  often  very  rationalistic,  but  the  peculiar  nature  of  his 
religious  doubts  is  not  to  be  explained  merely  by  an  intellectual 
apprehension  of  logical  inconsistencies.  The  youth  who  has 
been  brought  up  with  no  reverence  or  love  for  a  religious  belief 
may  become  as  skeptical  as  you  like  yet  never  know  the  intense 
and  painful  upheaval  of  ^'  adolescent  doubt.'^  The  doubt  ex- 
^  perience  here  in  question  is  something  very  different  from  in- 
tellectual denial  or  intellectual  uncertainty.  It  involves  on  the 
one  hand  a  dearly  loved  and  highly  prized  faith,  and  on  the 
other  a  very  real  though  possibly  vaguely  defined  loyalty  to 

lip.  234. 

12"  Science  and  Mysticism,"  Atlantic  for  June,  1913,  p.  778. 


ADOLESCENCE  117 

trutli.  The  will  to  believe  is  rather  too  sophisticated  (or  timid) 
a  doctrine  for  most  earnest  youths,  and  thus  they  lack  the 
refuge  to  which  their  elders  often  flee  for  peace.  Hence  when 
the  new  studies  of  their  high  school  and  college  days  are  found 
inconsistent  with  the  religion  of  their  childhood,  or  when  their 
growing  sense  of  justice  or  goodness  or  reality  makes  some 
hitherto  reverenced  dogma  seem  unworthy  or  absurd,  or  when 
religious  people  previously  respected  are  found  living  evil  lives, 
or  when  one's  faith  in  prayer  is  shaken  by  the  failure  to  get 
an  answer  which  childhood's  training  had  led  one  to  expect  — 
in  any  or  all  of  these  cases  the  gates  of  doubt  are  opened,  and 
often  the  doubt  of  one  thing  leads  to  doubting  all. 

A  second  great  cause  for  doubt  is  probably  to  be  found  in 
various  obscure  physical  conditions  which  have  little  enough  to 
do  with  intellectual  matters.  Especially  is  this  true  of  girls. 
Many  of  the  female  respondents  to  questionnaires  on  this  sub- 
ject seem  to  have  doubted  nothing  in  particular  but  simply 
"  everything."  Their  "  doubt  "  is  an  expression  not  of  intel- 
lectual questioning  but  of  an  emotional  disturbance  which  is 
merely  a  part  of  the  storm  and  stress  upheaval.  It  is  the  ex- 
ceptional young  woman  whose  doubts  are  of  a  serious  and  in- 
tellectual nature.  As  Starbuck  puts  it,  "  Men  are  more  apt  to 
have  doubts  without  storm  and  stress,  while  women  are  more 
apt  to  undergo  a  ferment  of  feeling  in  the  absence  of  doubt.  .  .  . 
That  is,  one  might  say  that  adolescence  is  for  women  primarily 
a  period  of  storm  and  stress,  while  iox,  men  it  is  in  the  highest 
sense  a  period  of  doubt."  ^^ 

The  conventions  of  theology  which  have  been  so  influential 
in  inducing  "  conviction  of  sin  "  have  done  much  less  to  en- 
courage doubt.  Yet  they  have  done  something,  and  the  con- 
ventional notions  of  the  public  in  general,  especially  in  the 
last  thirty  or  forty  years,  have  had  a  considerable  influence  in 
spreading  among  the  young  an  expectation  of  doubt.  This  was 
not  always  so.  The  youth  of  the  Middle  Ages  as  a  rule  was 
not  expected  to  go  through  a  period  of  doubt.  But  to-day  things 
have  changed.  Youthful  skepticism  is  one  of  the  natural  prod- 
ucts of  our  age,  and  this  fact  has  been  advertised  in  sermons, 
theological  treatises,  popular  novels,  and  learned  works  on  the 

i»P.  241. 


118  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

psychology  of  religion,  till  everyone  knows  it.  Unquestion- 
ably doubt  is  natural  and  inevitable  for  a  certain  conspicuous 
number  of  our  young  men,  and  this  fact  being  known  acts  as  a 
stinuilus  to  doubt  upon  a  number  of  others  who  might  never 
have  realized  that  they  were  skeptical  if  they  had  not  known 
that  they  were  expected  to  be.  Thus  social  conventions  extend 
a  perfectly  natural  phenomenon  beyond  its  natural  boundaries. 
Just  how  important  this  influence  is  there  is  no  means  of  tell- 
ing, but  I  have  little  question  that  with  many  a  young  man  of 
the  less  serious  sort  doubt  is  largely  imitative,  and  that  in 
many  of  the  genuine  and  spontaneous  cases  it  appears  earlier 
and  is  probably  more  violent  because  of  the  auto-suggestion  and 
hetero-suggestion  on  the  subject.  Others  are  watching  to  see 
the  youth  go  through  a  period  of  strain  and  he  is  watching  him- 
self to  see  it  come,  so  it  comes.  The  psychological  mechanism 
involved  is  not  essentially  different  from  that  involved  in  read- 
ing a  popular  medical  book  of  "  s^^nptoms,"  and  discovering 
that  one  has  all  the  diseases  described.  It  w^ould  probably  have 
been  instructive  had  some  circulator  of  a  questionnaire  in  the 
early  nineties  calculated  the  rise  in  the  curve  of  adolescent 
doubt  following  the  publication  of  "Robert  Elsmere."  That 
was  twenty-five  years  ago,  and  since  then  ''Robert  Elsmere'^  has 
been  followed  by  a  large  family  of  spiritual  children  who  have 
not  lived  in  vain. —  Note,  for  example,  the  conventional  tone 
of  the  following,  which  I  take  from  a  thesis  of  one  of  my  stu- 
dents :  "  A  college  youth  passes  through  a  wretched  period  of 
doubt  and  disbelief,  he  falters,  the  old  dogmas  seem  mere  rub- 
bish —  he  sees  the  folly  of  it  all,  yet  he  yearns  after  the  old, 
the  grand,  the  awe-inspiring,"  etc.,  etc. 

I  would  not  be  understood  as  denying  the  reality  and  inten- 
sity and  spontaneity  of  doubt  in  the  mind  of  many  an  earnest 
youth,  but  I  do  believe  that  the  expectation  of  it  has  much  to 
do  with  the  rise  of  a  superficial  kind  of  doubt  in  many  a  less 
earnest  mind,  and  also  that  the  phenomenon  of  adolescent  doubt 
is  not  nearly  so  wide-spread  as  a  great  deal  of  the  literature  on 
the  subject  would  have  us  believe.  So  far  as  I  can  discover, 
the  majority  of  the  students  in  my  college  classes  have  passed 
through  none  of  the  painful  skeptical  experiences  so  commonly 
pictured  as  normal,  and  there  is  of  course  every  reason  to  sup- 


ADOLESCEITCE  119 

pose  that  youths  outside  of  college  are  even  less  troubled  with 
religious  doubts  than  are  those  who  have  a  college  education. 

When  the  emotional  and  intellectual  and  moral  turmoil  of 
adolescence  are  over,  the  young  man  or  woman  settles  down, 
somewhere  in  the  middle  twenties,  into  the  relatively  stable  con- 
dition of  mature  life.  Not  that  struggles  and  doubts  and 
changes  are  forever  past;  but  the  doubts,  if  they  come,  are  of 
a  more  purely  intellectual  nature,  the  struggles  seem,  as  a  rule, 
less  intense  and  much  less  important.  One's  theology  may,  and 
often  does,  undergo  considerable  alteration  in  these  mature 
years ;  but  after  thirty  one's  attitude  toward  the  Determiner  of 
Destiny  is  pretty  well  settled.  The  quieting  of  the  emotional 
life,  and  the  change  from  the  romantic,  imaginative  viewpoint 
of  youth  to  the  more  classical  preferences  and  the  practical 
tendencies  of  middle  age  have  their  effect  upon  the  mystical 
as  well  as  upon  the  turbulent  side  of  the  individual's  religion. 
With  some  of  the  greater  mystics,  to  be  sure,  who  made  a  life 
business  of  cultivating  the  ecstasy,  the  acme  was  not  reached 
until  youth  was  well  past.^*  But  with  the  rank  and  file  of 
slightly  mystical  individuals,  who  make  no  systematic  attempt 
at  the  cultivation  of  their  religious  feelings,  the  approach  of 
middle  life  tends  to  calm  the  religious  emotions  and  to  trans- 
form religious  romanticism  into  something  much  more  quiet 
and  in  itself  less  absorbing.  The  acme  of  the  mystical  ten- 
dency toward  violent  emotion  is  probably  reached  with  most 
people  by  twenty-two  or  thereabouts,  and  soon  thereafter  begins 
to  decline,  getting  itself  translated  into  calmer,  more  diffused 
and  steadier  feeling  and  into  active  practice.  Ignorance  of 
the  fact  that  this  is  the  normal  course  of  religious  development 
is  often  a  cause  of  surprise  and  depression.  Many  a  religious 
young  man  or  woman  between  twenty-five  and  thirty  feels  a 
sense  of  sadness  and  even  of  self-accusation  on  noticing  this  par- 
tial dying  out  of  the  more  intense  and  emotional  mysticism  of 
his  younger  days,  as  though  he  were  travelling  ever  farther 
from  the  East,  and  beholding  the  vision  splendid  ''  fade  into  the 
common  light  of  day."  But  while  religious  feeling  should  never  / 
and  probably  need  never  completely  die  out,  it  is  normal  and 
proper  that  it  should  be  less  intense  and  less  recurrent  in  the 

1*  St.  Tersea,  e.g.,  had  her  first  great  ecstasy  at  43. 


120  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

liardworkin^  years  that  are  ahead.  Youth  is  the  time  for  hail- 
ing the  vision  and  coming  to  love  the  light;  the  religious  task 
•  of  the  great  middle  years  is  to  live  and  act  in  the  light  that  has 
heen  seen.  The  chapters  that  are  to  follow  will  be  devoted 
chiefly  to  the  religion  of  mature  life  in  its  varied  aspects;  hence 
this  subject  need  not  detain  us  here. 

As  maturity  sinks  imperceptibly  into  age,  many,  perhaps 
most,  of  the  interests  of  active  life  begin  to  lose  their  hold 
upon  the  mind.  But  religion  seldom  loses  its  hold.  Nearly 
all  those  who  have  ever  boon  religious  remain  so  to  the  end. 
There  are  several  fairlv  obvious  reasons  for  this.  In  the  first 
place  it  is  undoubtedly  one  aspect  of  the  familiar  fact  that  the 
earliest  faculties,  interests,  and  memories  survive  the  longest. 
Those  brain  centers  w^hich  are  the  last  to  be  built  up  in  the 
course  of  education  are  the  first  to  be  broken  down  when  the 
decline  of  approaching  senility  begins.  And  'the  old  man  who 
forgets  the  events  of  vesterdav  in  recallinsr  the  stories  of  his 
childhood,  loses  interest  in  the  achievements  of  science  and  for- 
gets its  facts,  but  clings  to  those  views  and  hopes  which  he 
learned  at  his  mother's  knee.  The  weakening  of  the  critical 
faculty,  moreover,  and  the  loss  of  ability  to  assimilate  new  ideas, 
makes  the  elderly  mind  less  open  to  the  subtle  influences  of 
the  skeptical  spirit,  which  in  middle  life  as  well  as  in  adolescence 
is  one  of  the  greatest  foes  of  established  religious  belief.  The 
old  faith  thus  comes  to  be  cherished  as  a  matter  of  course  and 
never  any  longer  questioned.  Moreover,  quite  aside  from  these 
quasi-physiological  reasons,  the  elderly  individual,  conscious  that 
death  cannot  be  very  far  off,  finds  his  religious  faith  growing 
in  value  to  him  as  most  of  life's  other  interests  decline,  and  he 
deliberately  clings  to  it  as  the  most  precious  of  all  his  possessions. 
Thus  around  his  religion  he  finds  clustering  all  the  lively  im- 
pressions and  the  pleasant  pictures  of  his  childhood,  and  all  his 
hopes  and  longings  for  the  mysterious  Beyond.  So  religion 
becomes  the  storehouse  of  the  values  of  the  Past  and  of  the 
Future,  and  stands  to  him  for  life  itself.  It  is  not  strange, 
therefore,  that  he  should  cling  to  it  with  increasing  tenacity  as 
his  one  really  important  possession,  the  surety  of  his  only  last- 
ing hope,  amid  the  downfall  or  gradual  crumbling  away  of 
nearly  everything  else. 


ADOLESCENCE  121 

In  looking  back  over  the  life  history  of  the  individuaFs  re- 
ligion from  birth  to  death,  one  is  struck  by  its  amazing  elas- 
ticity and  adaptability.  The  child's  religion,  the  youth's,  the 
religion  of  maturity,  the  religion  of  age  —  how  widely  they 
differ,  yet  how  genuine,  how  intense  and  serviceable  each  in  its 
own  place  is !  There  is  hardly  an  aspect  of  our  changing  life 
with  which  religion  does  not  come  into  touch  and  which  it 
may  not  bless  and  consecrate.  The  two  most  elaborately  com- 
plete of  the  historical  religions  —  Roman  Catholicism  and  Hin- 
duism —  have  expressed  in  external  institutions  this  inner  fact 
of  the  parallelism  of  religion  with  life  itself.  Confirmation, 
Holy  Communion,  Marriage  or  Holy  Orders,  Extreme  Unction, 
and  Burial  in  the  Catholic  practice,  and  the  various  solemnities 
of  the  Hindu  Dharma  beginning  at  conception,  and,  in  theory 
at  least,  never  ending  so  long  as  a  male  descendant  of  the  family 
survives  to  offer  the  ancestral  shraddha  —  these  are  but  practical 
applications  and  noble  symbols  of  the  fact  that  religion  is  al- 
most as  many-sided  and  inclusive  as  life.  When  we  come  to 
this  realization,  how  pitifully  narrow  and  unaccountably  blind 
seem  the  various  attempts  that  are  always  being  made  by  en- 
thusiastic and  scholarly  doctrinaires  to  deduce  the  whole  of 
religion  from  some  single  human  influence  I 


CHAPTER  VII 

TWO  TYPES  OF  CONVERSION 

It  may  seem  strange  that  in  an  entire  chapter  on  adolescence 
not  a  word  should  have  heen  said  concerning  that  most  strik- 
ing of  adolescent  religious  phenomena,  conversion.  I  hasten, 
therefore,  to  reassure  the  reader  that  the  omission  was  due  to 
no  lack  of  realization  of  the  importance  of  conversion  but 
rather  to  a  desire  to  treat  so  important  a  subject  more  adequately 
than  was  possible  within  the  limits  of  a  chapter  devoted  pri- 
marily to  something  else;  although  it  is  only  frank  to  add 
that  I  was  also  influenced  bv  the  conviction  that  violent  and 
sudden  conversion  has  played  an  altogether  exaggerated  role  in 
the  descriptions  of  the  adolescent  religious  life  as  given  by 
most  writers  on  the  subject,  and  that  the  reader  would,  there- 
fore, carry  away  a  truer  conception  of  adolescence  if  the  con- 
version experience,  whether  sudden  or  gradual,  should  be  re- 
served for  a  separate  chapter. 

In  one  sense,  indeed,  the  whole  moral  and  religious  process 
of  the  adolescent  period  may  well  be  called  conversion.  Early 
in  the  last  chapter  the  statement  was  made  that  the  great  task 
of  the  adolescent  was  to  grow  out  of  thin^hood  into  selfhood. 
Now  the  essential  element  in  conversion  is  nothing  else  than 
this  new  birth.  In  the  whole  history  of  ethical  discussion  there 
is  no  saying  more  full  of  insight  into  the  nature  of  the  moral 
life  than  those  words  of  Jesus,  ''  Ye  must  be  bom  again."  The 
physical  birth  is  not  a  moral  birth.  The  child  comes  into  thd 
world  a  little  animal,  and  for  several  years  he  remains  hardly 
more  than  a  psychological  thing.  His  impelling  motives  are 
still  chiefly  his  unmodified  and  uncontrolled  instincts,  which 
play  upon  him  and  dominate  his  life.  In  fact  one  can  hardly 
say  that  there  is  any  "  he,"  any  self  there  to  be  dominated. 
And  the  great  task  of  his  youth  consists  in  the  formation  of  a 
true  self,  which  shall  be  the  master  and  not  the  tool  of  his  in- 
stincts and  impulses.     If  he  is  to  be  a  full-rounded  human 

122 


TWO  TYPES  OF  CONVEKSIOlSr  123. 

being  lie  must  "  put  off  tlie  old  man  "  and  put  on  the  new.  In 
short  he  must  become  a  moral  self. 

Whatever  may  be  our  views  of  the  metaphysical  or  the 
psychological  nature  of  the  self,  there  will,  I  think,  be  little 
disagreement  if  for  the  purposes  of  our  present  discussion  I 
define  the  moral  self  as  a  group  of  powers  united  in  the  ser- 
vice of  a  harmonious  system  of  purposes.^  A  moral  self,  as  dis- 
ting-uished  from  an  animal,  a  child,  or  a  psychological  speci- 
men, is  not  merely  the  mechanical  toy  of  an  external  environ- 
ment or  an  inherited  group  of  instincts,  but  is  self-guided 
in  the  sense  that  its  activity  is,  at  least  in  part,  determined 
by  purposes  or  ideals.  The  establishment  of  fairly  settled 
purposes  is  therefore  the  first  step  in  the  achievement  of  moral 
personality.  But  purposes  may  and  often  do  conflict  with 
each  other  quite  as  much  as  with  temporary  gusts  of  pas- 
sion and  impulse.  Hence  the  other  great  step  in  self-making 
is  the  victory  of  one  group  of  harmonious  purposes  over  all 
others,  and  the  complete  subordination  of  everything  else  in 
life  to  these  best-loved  ends.  This  victory  will  have  all  de- 
grees of  finality;  with  none  of  us  human  beings  is  it  ever  ab- 
solutely complete.  But  the  measure  of  a  man's  moral  self- 
hood is  exactly  the  degree  of  this  victory. 

Xow  as  I  understand  it,  the  essential  thing  about  conver- 
sion is  just  the  unification  of  character,  the  achievement  of 
a  new  self,  which  I  have  been  describing.  The  process  may 
have  many  by-products  of  an  emotional  nature,  it  may  ex- 
press itself  in  varying  intellectual  terms,  it  may  be  gradual 
or  seemingly  sudden,  but  the  really  important  and  the  only 
essential  part  of  it  is  just  this  new  birth  by  which  a  man 
ceases  to  be  a  mere  psychological  thing  or  a  divided  self  and 
becomes  a  unified  being  with  a  definite  direction  under  the 
guidance  of  a  group  of  consistent  and  harmonious  purposes 
or  ideals. 

This  new  birth  involves  the  whole  man.  It  is,  indeed, 
primarily  a  moral  matter,  but  that  does  not  mean  that  it  is 
a  matter  of  "  will "  as  distinct  from  emotion  or  thought. 
Psychology  is  unable  to  find  any  such  thing  as  "  pure  "  will. 

1  A  similar  though  somewhat  different  view  of  the  self  will  be  found  in 
Taylor's  "Metaphysics,"  Book  IV,  Chap.  3;  Royce's  "The  World  and  the 
Individual,"  Vol.  II,  Lecture  VI. 


124  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

It  is  simply  impossible  for  the  "  divided  self "  —  the  man 
torn  between  eonflietinp^  loves  —  to  bring  unity  into  his  life 
by  merely  saving,  Go  to,  now,  I  choose  this  set  of  purposes 
and  give  up  the  others.  Long  continued  determination  of 
this  sort  must  indeed  have  its  effect,  but  before  the  man  can 
really  will  one  set  of  ends  in  preference  to  the  other  he  must 
have  already  come  to  love  them  best.  Thus  willing  involves 
feeling  as  a  very  part  of  itself.  Before  the  new  ideals  come 
to  unify  and  dominate  the  life  they  must  be  accepted  and 
loved;  they  can  subjugate  the  old  purposes  and  passions  only 
by  a  change  of  emotional  values.  This  done,  "  will  "  (how- 
ever one  may  interpret  that  term)  may  reinforce  the  new 
ideals  bv  constant  control  of  the  attention.  Nor  is  the  in- 
tellectual  side  of  the  process  to  be  neglected,  though  it  is 
frankly  the  least  noticeable  of  the  three.  In  most  cases  it 
seems  to  play  but  a  negative  part;  yet  it  always  holds  some 
degree  of  veto  power ;  and  in  many  individuals  that  combina- 
tion of  the  emotional  and  intellectual  which  we  call  the  love 
of  truth  forms  the  very  central  core  around  which  the  new 
character  is  crystallized  and  which  guides  the  entire  process 
of  conversion.^ 

Adolescence,  as  I  have  said,  is  the  normal  period  for  this 
re-formation  of  the  individual's  life,  though  if  the  task  has 
not  been  done  then  it  may  sometimes  be  achieved  later  on, 
and  occasionally  a  fairly  unified  self  may  be  overthrown  and 
replaced  by  a  new  combination  of  impelling  and  harmonious 
ideals.  With  most  young  people  the  process  goes  on  so  gradu- 
ally as  to  be  largely  unconscious.  The  new  ideals  grow  rather 
silently,  at  times  break  out  into  somewhat  noisy  conflict  with 
each  other  and  wdth  the  more  primitive  powers  of  unmodified 
impulse,  but  in  the  main  they  win  their  victories  by  the 
subtle  modification  of  values,  and  by  the  end  of  the  adolescent 
period  the  young  man  finds  himself  a  fairly  unified  person. 
Not  always  is  this  the  case.     Peculiarities  of  temperament ' 

2  Cf.  G.  Truc's  analysis  of  the  "  state  of  grace,"  as  a  harmony  of  the  intel- 
lectual and  emotional  factors. — "La  Gnlce "  (Paris,  Alcan:  1918), 
Chap.  II. 

3  James's  well-known  distinction  between  the  "  healthy-minded  "  and  the 
"  sick  soul  "  is  here  in  point.  The  former  grows  into  that  unity  of  feeling 
and  of  will  which  we  have  been  considering  by  a  peaceful  and  imperceptible 


TWO  TYPES  OF  C01TVEKSI0:Nr  125 

or  unfortunate  environmental  conditions  may  make  the  con- 
scious struggles  sharper  or  the  final  victory  more  sudden  and 
dramatic.  But  whether  the  change  be  spectacular  or  come  like 
the  Kingdom  of  Heaven,  "  without  observation,"  the  essential 
thing  in  it  is  the  same :  the  "  natural  man  "  is  replaced  by 
the  "  new  creature." 

The  emotional  turmoil  of  adolescence  described  in  the  last 
chapter  is  of  course  an  outcropping  or  expression  and  some- 
times a  genuine  part  of  the  conversion  process.  Eor,  as  in- 
dicated above,  though  conversion  is  often  so  gradual  as  to  be 
almost  imperceptible,  it  may  rise  into  consciousness  in  the 
form  of  a  long  and  painful  struggle  or  a  short,  sharp  and 
sudden  crisis  or  transformation.  It  is  these  visible  and  strik- 
ing forms  of  the  new  birth  that  commonly  go  by  the  name 
conversion.  And  though  from  the  ethical  point  of  view  they 
surely  are  of  no  greater  importance  than  is  the  quieter  form 
of  self-unification,  they  unquestionably  do  possess  great 
psychological  interest  and  for  many  reasons  are  worthy  of 
close  study. 

The  best  way  to  study  conversion  is  to  go  directly  to  typi- 
cal examples  of  it  and  let  them  speak  for  themselves,  before 

process:  it  is  to  him  the  most  natural  thing  in  the  world.  The  sick  soul, 
on  the  contrary,  is  painfully  conscious  of  division  and  conflict.  (See  the 
"Varieties,"  Lectures  IV-VIII  inclusive.)  A  similar  distinction  is  that 
made  by  Hoffding  between  the  "  expansive "  and  "  discordant "  natures. 
The  latter  are  "  tortured  by  the  opposition  offered  within  their  own  breasts 
to  their  ideal,  the  effect  of  which  is  heightened  by  the  close  proximity  of 
the  ideal."  The  expansive  natures  feel  no  such  inner  struggle  and  division. 
Another  distinction  made  by  Hoffding  is  that  between  what  he  names  the 
"  affective  "  and  the  "  contiguous  "  types.  "  Some  natures  are  inclined  to 
vehement  fermentation.  The  transitions  from  one  state  to  another,  or  one 
period  of  life  to  another,  take  place  for  the  most  part  by  sudden  crises  and 
visible  leaps.  They  differ  from  the  discordant  natures  already  described 
in  that  the  oppositions  succeed  one  another  in  time,  while  with  the  dis- 
cordant ones  the  conflicting  tendencies  are  contemporaneous  .  .  .  Where 
development  proceeds  by  leaps,  and  where  there  is  a  tendency  to  emotional 
states,  we  get  a  type  which  might  be  called  the  affective.  The  peculiarity 
of  other  natures  causes  their  development  to  proceed  by  small  steps,  and 
hence  it  presents  the  character  of  continuity.  The  life  of  feeling  and  will 
has,  in  such  ca.«es,  a  more  divided,  more  interior  character,  while  in 
aflFective  natures  there  are  momentary  concentrations,  and  they  are  char- 
acterized by  the  stamp  of  violence  rather  than  of  inwardness.  The  con- 
tinuous type  (as  we  will  call  this  type),  has  a  certain  kinship  with  the 
expansive  type."     ("Philosophy  of  Religion,"  pp.  284-288.) 


126  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

consultinfc  the  opinions  of  others,  whether  theological  or  psy- 
chological, on  the  interpretation  of  the  phenomena.     The  cases 
I  have  chosen  to  present  first  of  all  are  from  fields  as  far  re- 
moved as  possible  from  our  usual  sources  of  information,  and 
are  only  slightly  or  not  at  all  influenced  by  any  preconceived 
notions   derived   from    Christian   theology.     Professor    James 
pointed  out  in  his  '*  Varieties  "  that  falling  in  love  and  fall- 
ing out  of  love  are  experiences  in  many  ways  psychologically 
parallel  to  conversion;  and  he  has  also  shown  that  "counter- 
conversion  "  **  —  or  the   sudden   and   emotional  turning  away 
from  Christianity  and  religion  —  may  follow  much  the  same 
psychological  course  as  the  conventional  conversion  experience. 
The  first  case  I  shall  cite  is  of  a  sort  that  might  be  called 
counter-conversion.     It  is,  namely,  the  conversion  of  the  Ital- 
ian  philosopher   Roberto   Ardigo, —  a   conversion    away   from 
a  traditional  authoritative  theology  to   a   new  unification   of 
character  brought  about  by  an  all-dominating  love  of  truth. 
Ardigo  had  from  birth  a  reflective  and  also  a  religious  nature, 
and  w^as  brought  up  in  orthodox  Catholic  surroundings  and 
became  a  priest, —  in  fact  was  appointed  prebendary  of  Man- 
tua Cathedral.     At  times  throughout  his  youth  doubts  as  to 
the  truth  of  the  teachings  of  the  Church  had  presented  them- 
selves to  his  mind,  but  had  resolutely  been  put  aside.     He  now 
devoted  himself  more  closely  than  ever  to  the  study  of  the 
scholastic  philosophy  and  also  to  science,  convinced  that  the 
two  were  perfectly  consistent,  and  eager  to  champion  Catho- 
licism  against   Protestant   and   other   attacks.     But   he   came 
to  perceive  that  scholasticism  and  science  took  different  ways 
and  there  ensued  a  struggle  of  two  loyalties  combined  with  a 
gradual   process   of  thinking  his  way  out,   which   finally   re- 
sulted in  a  rather  sudden  discovery  that  his  scientific  ideas 
had  already  definitely  conquered  his  theological  views  and  his 
loyalty  to  the  Church.     In  his  own  words : 

"  I  dedicated  myself  heart  and  soul  to  theology  —  as  well 
as  to  the  study  of  natural  science  and  of  philosophy,  to  which 
I  have  been  ever  true  —  especially  to  the  dogmatic  and  apolo- 
getic.    I  collected  for  myself  a  library  of  the  Old  Fathers  and 

*Cf.  the  "Varieties,"  pp.  176-179. 


TWO  TYPES  OF  CONVERSION"  127 

the  theologians,  devoting  the  best  of  my  young  years  to  their 
study,  especially  that  of  St.  Thomas.     At  length  I  wrote  and 
published   a   book   on   Confession,    directed   against   the   Pro- 
testants.    But  the  outcome  of  my  study  was  wholly  contrary 
to   its   aspiration   and   expectation.     Gradually   it  came   to   a 
point  at  which  the  doubt,  which  had  already  presented  itself 
to  me  from  all  sides  in  my  earlier  years,  against  which  I  had 
struggled  with  unceasing  reflection  and   study,   and  which  I 
had  long  regarded  as  conquered,  cropped  up  unopposed.     And, 
one  fine  day,  to  my  immense  astonishment,  it  stepped  forward 
as  a  definite  conviction  and  an  incontestible  certainty.     Mar- 
velous!    Up  to  that  day  I  had  devoted  myself  to  the  effort 
to  remain  firm  in  my  old  religious  beliefs,  and  yet,  within  me, 
and  without  my  knowing  it,  the  Positivist  system  had  become 
freely  developed  in  the  midst  of  the  system  of  religious  ideas 
which  was  the  fruit  of  an  effort  so  great  and  so  protracted. 
The  new  system  I  found,  to  my  very  great  amazement,  al- 
ready complete,  and  unshakably  settled  in  my  mind.     At  that 
moment  I  had  observed,  as  I  sat  on  a  stone  under  a  shrub  in 
the  garden  which  I  had  laid  out  near  my  canonical  residence, 
how  my  last  reflections  had  snapped  the  last  thread  that  still 
held  me  bound  to  belief.     Now  it  suddenly  came  to  me,  as 
though  I  had  never  in  my  life  believed,  and  had  never  done 
otherwise  than  study,  to  develop  the  purely  scientific  tendency 
in  myself.     This  arose,   as   I  believe,   out   of  the   zeal  with 
which  I  had  sought  to  experience  as  far  as  possible  all  the 
conflicting  grounds  of  religion,  to  be  able  to  believe  on  good 
security,  and  to  defend  my  belief  against  all  attacks."  ^ 

Ardigo's  conversion  was  complete  and  permanent,  and  he 
remained  to  the  end  of  his  life  an  ardent  servant  of  the  scien- 
tific ideal,  although  at  times  it  cost  him  considerable  sacrifice. 
The  reader  will  note,  without  lengthy  comment  of  mine,  how 
completely  this  case  parallels  the  more  familiar  religious  type 
of  conversion.  The  process  was  gradual,  the  discovery  of  its 
finished  work  sudden,  the  unification  of  character  brought 
about  was  complete.  The  intellectual  factor  was,  to  be  sure, 
more  prominent  in  Ardigo's  case  than  in  the  common  type  of 

5  Quoted  by  HoflFding  in  his  "Modern  Philosophers"    (London,  Macmil- 
lan:   1915),  pp.  42-43. 


128  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

conversion,  yet  even  here  the  process  was  by  no  means  one  of 
mere  intellectual  illumination. 

That  conversion  is  a  natural  human  phenomenon,  indepen- 
dent alike  of  supernatural  interference  and  of  theological  pre- 
possession, is  evident  from  Ardigo's  experience.  This  fact, 
however,  will  come  out  more  distinctly  if  we  turn  from  Chris- 
tendom altogether  and  consider  two  rather  illuminating  cases  of 
conversion  furnished  us  by  Hinduism,®  —  to  both  of  which  ref- 
erence was  made  in  the  preceding  chapter. 

«  Examples  of  conversion  might  be  cited  from  many  other  religions.  To 
the  Greeks,  for  instance,  it  was  a  well  known  experience.  Thus  Plutarch 
cites  a  case  of  sudden  conversion  in  the  story  of  Thespesius  of  Soli,  whose 
remarkable  dream  of  the  punishment  of  the  wicked  in  the  next  world  is 
said  to  have  wrought  in  him  so  radical  a  revaluing  of  all  values  that  the 
whole  course  of  his  life  was  altered  ("  On  the  Delay  of  the  Divine  Justice," 
section  22).  If  Thespesius  be  a  fictitious  character,  the  story  is  all  the 
better  evidence  of  the  belief  of  the  ancients  in  sudden  conversion.  During 
Nero's  century,  in  fact,  and  later,  conversion  had  a  prominent  place  in  the 
belief  and  experience  of  earnest  religious  pagans,  such  as  Seneca,  Apol- 
lonius  of  Tyana,  etc.  (See  Dill's  "Roman  Society  from  Nero  to  Marcus 
Aurelius,"  London,  Macmillan:  1905;  Book  III,  Chaps.  I  and  II.)  In  the 
February,  1910,  number  of  the  Zeitschrift  fiir  Religionspsychologie,  Pro- 
fessor Heidel  cites  several  ancient  cases  of  what  seems  to  be  conversion  — 
from  the  Mysteries  of  Eleusis,  from  the  philosophic  schools,  and  from  the 
Mithra  cult.  ("  Die  Bekehrung  in  klassischen  Altertum,"  loc.  cit.,  Vol.  Ill, 
pp.  377-402.)  The  Moslem  Sufis  very  early  recognized  and  even  sys- 
tematized the  phenomenon  of  conversion,  (Nicholson,  "The  Mystics  of 
Islam,"  London,  Bell:  1914;  pp.  30-32).  Al  Ghazzali,  the  greatest  of  the 
Moslem  mystics,  had  a  marked  conversion  experience,  lasting  through  many 
years.  From  India  also  several  examples  of  conversion  might  be  cited  be- 
sides the  two  described  in  the  text.  Gautama's  six  years  of  search  and 
struggle,  culminating  in  the  famous  victory  under  the  Bo  tree,  with  its  sub- 
sequent unbroken  peace,  is  too  mythical  in  its  details  to  warrant  close  ex- 
amination here,  yet  the  large  outlines  of  the  story  are  so  true  to  the  usual 
course  of  human  nature  in  the  conversion  process  that  they  gain  new 
credibility  from  modern  psychology.  The  conversion  of  Chaitanya,  the 
famous  Apostle  of  Krishna  to  the  Bengalese,  might  well  repay  close  study, 

—  a  conversion  resembling  in  many  ways  that  of  St.  Francis.  Chaitanya, 
indeed,  had  always  been  interested  in  philosophy,  but  his  religion  was  of 
a  relatively  cold,  intellectual  sort,  and  he  was  filled  with  the  pride  of 
learning.  On  a  pilgrimage  to  Gaya  he  met  a  Krishna  devotee  who  im- 
pressed him  very  deeply,  and  finally  succeeded  in  converting  him  to  hhakti, 

—  the  emotional  devotion  to  the  personal  Krishna.  The  change  in  Chai- 
tanya's  character  and  his  life  purpose  was  even  more  complete  than  it  was 
sudden,  and  he  became  for  the  rest  of  his  days  the  inspired  and  ecstatic 
worshiper  and  preacher  and  (as  his  disciples  believed)  the  incarnation  of 
the  personal  deity  whom  he  had  come  to  love.     There  are  several  lives  of 


TWO  TYPES  OF  COlSrVERSIO:^'  129 

The  first  of  these  is  that  of  Ramakrishna,  the  famous  Ben- 
galee saint  and  mystic  and  the  founder  of  the  Order  which 
bears  his  name.  Ramakrishna  was  bom  in  1833,  and  from 
boyhood  evinced  that  intense  religious  nature  which  charac- 
terized him  through  life.  He  belonged  to  a  poor  but  very 
high-caste  Brahmin  family,  and  pride  of  birth,  mingled  with 
an  unyielding  religious  orthodoxy,  was  impressed  upon  him 
through  all  his  boyhood  and  youth.  His  psychopathic  dis- 
position was  also  early  in  evidence.  We  have  a  story  of  his 
falling  into  a  trance  at  the  sight  of  a  flock  of  white  cranes 
against  a  blue  sky,  when  he  was  a  lad  of  ten  or  eleven.  His 
great  interest  in  religion  brought  him  at  the  age  of  twenty  to 
a  new  temple  of  Kali  at  Daksineshvara,  at  which  his  elder 
brother  was  acting  as  priest.  But  though  he  frequented  the 
place  he  persistently  refused  to  accept  any  cooked  food  within 
the  temple  precints  because  the  founder  of  the  temple  was  a 
Shudra  woman.  I  mention  this  because  his  religious  pride  of 
caste  seems  to  have  been  one  of  the  most  difficult  things  for 
him  to  overcome  in  his  subsequent  conversion. 

The  first  stage  in  Ramakrishna's  conversion  dates  from  the 
time  when  he  began  to  frequent  the  shrine  of  Kali.  The 
thought  of  the  Mother  Goddess  got  hold  of  his  imagination 
and  his  emotions  and  mastered  his  attention  to  the  exclusion 
of  everything  else.  "  He  now  began  to  look  upon  the  image 
of  Kali  as  his  mother,  and  the  mother  of  the  universe.  He 
believed  it  to  be  living  and  breathing  and  taking  food  from 
his  hand.  After  the  regular  forms  of  worship  he  would  sit 
there  for  hours  and  hours,  singing  hymns  and  talking  and 
praying  to  her  as  a  child  to  his  mother,  till  he  lost  all  con- 
sciousness of  the  outward  world.  Sometimes  he  would  weep 
for  hours,  and  would  not  be  comforted,  because  he  could  not 

Chaitanya,  one  of  the  most  available  of  which  is  Professor  Sarkar's  transla- 
tion of  the  "  Chaitanya-charit-amrita."  (Calcutta,  Sarkar  and  Sons: 
1913.)  Chaitanya  was  born  in  1485,  and  converted  at  about  22.  For  the 
conversion  of  Nichiren,  the  reformer  of  Japanese  Buddhism  of  the  13th 
Century,  see  Anesaki,  "Nichiren,  the  Buddhist  Prophet,"  (Harvard  Uni- 
versity Press:  1916),  Chap.  II.  For  a  description  of  the  process  of  con- 
version in  Mahayana  Buddhism,  as  portrayed  in  the  life  of  the  ideal 
Bodhisattva,  see  Suzuki,  "Outlines  of  Mahayana  Buddhism"  (London, 
Luzac:   1907),  p.  313  f. 


130  THE  KELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

see  his  mother  as  |x?rfootlj  as  he  wished."  ^  This  sense  of  un- 
satisfied religious  lonpng,  connected  evidently  with  a  recog- 
nition of  his  ovn\  incompleteness,  continued  for  years.  "  His 
whole  soul,  as  it  were,  melted  into  one  flood  of  tears,  and  he 
appealed  to  the  Goddess  to  have  mercy  on  him  and  reveal  her- 
self to  him.  No  mother  ever  shed  such  burning  tears  over  the 
death-bed  of  her  onlv  child.  Crowds  assembled  round  him 
and  tried  to  console  him,  when  the  blowing  of  the  conch-shells 
proclaimed  the  death  of  another  day,  and  he  gave  vent  to  his 
sorrow,  saying,  ^  Mother,  oh  my  mother,  another  day  has  gone 
and  still  I  have  not  found  thee.'  "  ®  Visions  of  the  goddess 
were  granted  him  at  this  time  but  though  they  brought  some 
degree  of  calm  they  were  far  from  satisfying  his  longing.  The 
trouble  under  which  he  was  suffering  was  far  too  inward  for 
any  visions  to  allay. 

Max  M tiller's  account,  drawn  as  it  is  from  the  descrip- 
tions of  the  mystic's  disciples,  is  here  insufficient  to  enable 
us  to  make  out  in  detail  the  exact  nature  of  Ramakrishna's 
spiritual  malady,  but  it  is  plain  that  it  was  some  form 
of  what  James  calls  the  ^'  divided  self."  In  fact  two  points 
upon  which  Ramakrishna  was  as  yet  lacking  in  the  inner 
unity  of  perfect  moral  selfhood  come  out  plainly  enough 
in  the  account  (though  seemingly  without  the  intention  of  the 
recounters)  :  he  still  retained  something  of  the  old  Brahmin 
pride  of  birth,  and  something  (though  surely  very  little)  of 
the  common  human  love  of  things.  From  both  of  these  he 
felt  it  absolutely  essential  that  he  should  free  himself;  and 
it  is  interesting  to  note  that  his  method  was  that  of  earnest 
and  direct  attack,  believing,  evidently  that  God  helps  those 
who  help  themselves.  Recounting  these  struggles,  in  later 
years,  he  said,  "  Sometimes  I  used  to  go  to  the  closets  of  the 
serv^ants  and  sweepers  [the  lowest  caste  in  India]  and  clean 
them  with  my  own  hands,  and  prayed,  ^  Mother !  destroy  in 
me  all  idea  that  I  am  great,  and  that  I  am  a  Brahmin,  and 
that  they  are  low  and  pariahs;  for  who  are  they  but  Thou  in 

7  Max  Miiller,  "  Tlie  Life  and  Sayings  of  Ramakrishna,"  p.  36.     Most  of 
my  account  of  this  phase  of  Ramakrishna's  life  is  taken  from  this  book. 

8  Op.  cit.,  p.  38. 


TWO  TYPES  OF  CONVEESION  131 

so  many  forms  ? '  Sometimes  I  would  sit  by  the  Ganges  with 
some  gold  and  silver  coins  and  a  heap  of  rubbish  by  my  side, 
and  taking  some  coins  in  my  right  hand  and  a  handful  of  rub- 
bish in  my  left,  I  would  tell  my  soul,  ^  My  soul !  this  is  what 
the  world  calls  money.  It  has  the  power  of  doing  all  that 
the  world  calls  great,  but  it  can  never  help  thee  to  realize  the 
ever  existent  knowledge  and  bliss,  the  Brahman.  Eegard  it 
therefore  as  rubbish ! '  Then  mixing  the  coins  and  the  rub- 
bish in  my  hands,  while  repeating  all  the  time,  '  money  is 
rubbish,  money  is  rubbish ! '  I  lost  all  perception  of  difference 
between  the  two  in  my  mind,  and  threw  them  both  into  the 
Ganges."  ^ 

On  one  other  thing  besides  Brahmin  pride  and  love  of  pos- 
session Ramakrishna  felt  himself  still  a  divided  self,  although 
one  would  gain  no  hint  of  this  from  the  accounts  that  have 
emanated  from  his  disciples.  I  have  it  on  the  authority  of 
a  prominent  and  very  well-informed  Indian  gentleman,  Mr. 
Bipin  Chandra  Pal  of  Calcutta,  that  through  these  years  of 
adolescent  storm  and  stress,  Pamakrishna  was  greatly  troubled 
by  the  solicitations  of  the  flesh,  and,  though  he  never  yielded 
to  them,  it  cost  him  an  intense  struggle  to  overcome  them.  In 
three  particulars,  then,  that  can  be  clearly  made  out  Rama- 
krishna  found  his  ideal  self  in  conflict  with  "  the  old  Adam," 
and  the  struggle  between  the  two  was  psychologically  not  un- 
like that  of  many  a  Christian  saint.  It  should  be  added,  how- 
ever, that  with  him  the  emphasis  of  conscious  attention  seems 
always  to  have  been  placed  upon  the  ideal  toward  which  he 
was  striving  rather  than  upon  the  old  and  lower  self  which  he 
was  seeking  to  outgrow.  There  was  little  if  any  "  conviction 
of  sin  "  in  Ramakrishna's  storm  and  stress.  In  later  years 
he  expostulated  with  his  friend  Keshab  Chunder  Sen  for  hav- 
ing adopted  into  the  Brahmo  Samaj  the  Christian  custom  of 
centering  the  attention  upon  sin, —  a  custom  which  he  regarded 
as  very  detrimental  to  spiritual  growth.  "  Someone,"  he  said 
to  Keshab,  "  gave  me  a  book  of  the  Christians.  I  asked  him 
to  read  it  to  me.  In  it  there  was  only  one  theme  —  sin  and 
sin,   from  the  beginning  to  the  end.     The  fool  who  repeats 

»  Op.  cit.,  p.  42. 


132  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

again  and  a^ain,  *  I  am  bound,  I  am  bound,'  remains  in  bond- 
age. He  who  repeats  day  and  night,  '  I  am  a  sinner,  I  am  a 
sinner,*  becomes  a  sinner  indeed."  ^^ 

Ramakrishna's  storm  and  stress  lasted  for  twelve  years. 
Looking  back  at  this  period  later  on  in  life  he  said  that  "  a 
great  religious  tornado,  as  it  were,  raged  within  him  during 
these  years  and  made  everything  topsy-turvy."  "  In  his 
despair  he  cried  out,  ^  Mother,  oh  my  mother,  is  this  the  re- 
sult of  calling  upon  thee  and  believing  in  thee?'  And  anon 
a  sweet  voice  would  come  and  a  sweet  smiling  face,  and  say, 
*  My  son,  how  can  you  hope  to  realize  the  highest  truth  un- 
less you  give  up  the  love  of  your  body  and  of  your  little 
8elf2>"ii  The  thought  of  "the  little  self,"  and  the  love  of 
it  were,  in  his  opinion,  the  greatest  evils  in  the  way  of  com- 
plete religious  conversion.  In  later  years  he  taught  his 
disciples :  "  The  sense  of  ^  I '  in  us  is  the  greatest  obstacle 
in  the  path  of  God-vision.  It  covers  the  Truth.  When  ^  I ' 
is  dead,  all  trouble  ceases."  ^^  This  view,  which  formed  the 
burden  of  much  of  his  preaching,  was  evidently  the  outcome 
of  his  own  experience  during  the  long  years  of  struggle.  But 
at  length  the  victory  was  won, —  not  by  any  sudden  insight  or 
reformation,  but  by  a  gradual  process,  in  which  both  increased 
self-control,  intellec^tual  illumination,  and  (most  important 
of  all)  an  absolute  unification  of  values,  played  important  and 
mutually  helpful  parts.^^  The  moral  and  intellectual  and 
emotional  unification  thus  attained,  together  with  the  peace 
and  joy  that  flowed  from  it,  were  now  permanent.  The  flesh 
no  longer  felt  any  incitements  to  insurrection,  love  of  things  and 
Brahmin  pride  were  gone  for  ever.  He  lived  to  the  end  of  his 
days  in  complete  poverty,  and  in  never  failing  intuition  of  the 
presence  of  God  in  low  and  high,  in  himself  and  in  everything. 
"  I  have  now  come  to  a  stage  of  realization,"  he  said  toward 
the  close  of  his  life,  "  in  which  I  see  that  God  is  walking  in 

10  "The  Gospel  of  Ramakrishna,"  pp.  159-60. 

11  Max  Muller,  op.  cit.,  p.  41. 

12  "  Gospel  of  Ramakrishna,"  p.  51. 

13  The  intellectual  element  in  his  conversion  came  largely  f~om  the  in- 
fluence of  two  traveling  garus,  who  gave  him  new  insight  into  Indian 
philosophy.  The  manner  in  which  the  intellectual  cooperated  with  the  emo- 
tional in  Ramakrishna's  conversion  recalls  the  similar  case  of  Ardigo. 


TWO  TYPES  OF  COi^VEIiSION  133 

every  human  form  and  manifesting  Himself  alike  through  the 
saint  and  the  sinner,  the  virtuous  and  the  vicious.  Therefore 
when  I  meet  different  people  I  say  to  myself :  ^  God  in  the 
form  of  the  saint,  God  in  the  form  of  the  sinner,  God  in 
the  form  of  the  unrighteous  and  God  in  the  form  of  the  right- 
eous ! '  He  who  has  attained  to  such  realization  goes  beyond 
good  and  evil,  above  virtue  and  vice,  and  realizes  that  the  Di- 
vine is  working  everywhere."  ^* 

The  other  conversion  case  which  I  take  from  India  is  far 
less  striking,  but  it  has  the  one  advantage  of  being  described 
for  us  by  the  subject  himself.  I  refer  to  Maharshi  Deven- 
dranath  Tagore,  the  father  of  the  famous  Bengalee  poet. 
Devendranath  was  brought  up  in  a  rich  and  orthodox  Bengalee 
family  which,  though  in  some  ways  liberal,  clung  devoutly  to 
the  worship  of  Kali  and  the  use  of  images.  Most  of  his  child- 
hood's religious  instruction  and  inspiration  came  from  his 
grandmother,  a  deeply  religious  and  devout  worshiper  of  Kali 
and  Vishnu.  This  rather  primitive  religion  seems  to  have 
sufficed  him  until  his  grandmother's  death,  when  he  was 
eighteen.  His  love  for  her  was  very  great  and  he  spent  with 
her  the  three  days  that  the  old  lady  took  to  die,  by  the  side 
of  the  Ganges.  The  impression  made  upon  his  deep  and  sen- 
sitive nature  was  very  considerable  and  resulted  in  what  Star- 
buck  would  call  "  spontaneous  awakening.''  As  the  attendants 
were  singing  a  h^mn  in  the  ears  .of  the  dying  woman,  on  her 
last  night,  after  he  had  left  her,  the  solemn  strains  awakened 
within  him  a  new  experience.  "  The  sounds,"  he  tells  us,  in 
his  Autobiography,  "  reached  my  ears  faintly,  borne  on  the 
night  wind;  at  this  opportune  moment  a  strange  sense  of  the 
unreality  of  all  things  suddenly  entered  my  mind.  I  was 
as  if  no  longer  the  same  man.  A  strong  aversion  to  wealth 
arose  within  me.  The  coarse  bamboo  mat  on  which  I  sat 
seemed  to  be  my  fitting  seat,  carpets  and  costly  spreadings 
seemed  hateful;  in  my  mind  was  awakened  a  joy  unfelt  be- 
fore. .  .  .  Up  to  that  time  I  had  been  plunged  in  the  lap  of 
luxury    and   pleasure.     I    had   never    sought    after    spiritual 

14 "Gospel  of  Ramakrishna,"  p.  88.  I  should  add  that  Ramakrishna 
gave  up  all  the  remainder  of  his  life,  after  his  conversion,  to  preaching  and 
teaching,  and  that  his  influence  seems  to  have  been  a  great  force  for 
righteousness  and  true  religion. 


134  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

truths.  Wliat  was  religion,  what  was  God  ?  1  knew  noth- 
ing, had  learned  nothing.  My  mind  could  scarcely  contain 
the  unworldly  joy,  so  simple  and  natural,  which  1  experienced 
at  the  burning  ghat.  Language  is  weak  in  every  way;  how 
can  I  make  others  understand  the  joy  I  felt?  It  was  a  spon- 
taneous delight,  to  which  nobody  can  attain  by  argument  or 
logic/'  '^ 

The  new-found  delight  soon  passed.  The  next  few  day  a 
were  filled  with  the  excitement  of  the  grandmother's  funeral, 
and  when  this  was  over,  young  Tagore  sought  to  recover  the 
strange  joy  which  had  come  to  him  so  mysteriously.  But  it 
would  not  return.  ''  At  this  time,"  he  writes,  "  the  state  of 
my  mind  was  one  of  continued  despondency  and  indifference 
to  the  world.  On  that  night  the  indifference  had  been  coupled 
with  delight.  Now,  in  the  absence  of  that  delight,  a  deep 
gloom  settled  on  my  mind.  I  longed  for  a  repetition  of  that 
ecstatic  feeling.     I  lost  all  interest  in  everything  else."  ^^ 

Tagore  now  entered  upon  a  period  of  depression  and  at  times 
almost  of  despair,  in  which  emotional  and  intellectual  fac- 
tors w^ere  inextricably  interwoven.  He  was  very  ^vretched, 
but  not  with  any  sense  of  sin.  The  thought  that  he  himself 
was  guilty  seems  never  to  have  entered  his  mind.  He  was 
ignorant, —  that  was  the  depressing  fact.  He  wanted  insight, 
he  wanted  relief  from  the  weary  weight  of  all  this  unintelli- 
gible world.  And  he  w^anted  a  renewal  of  that  strange  joy 
which  for  a  moment  had  given  him  a  taste  of  a  new  kind  of 
being.  He  tried  earnestly  to  free  himself  from  his  depression, 
not  by  inducing  pleasant  emotions  but  by  pondering  on  the 
mystery  of  things,  and  searching  for  the  truth.  The  poly- 
theistic and  idolatrous  religion  of  the  family  had  little  for 
him,  and  no  one  helped  him  to  anything  better.  ^*  I  knew  not 
where  to  turn  for  solace,"  he  writes.  "  Sometimes  lying  on 
a  sofa  and  pondering  over  problems  about  God,  I  used  to  be- 
come so  absent  minded  that  I  did  not  know  when  I  had  got 
up  from  my  couch  and  taken  my  meals  and  lain  down  again. 
I  used  to  feel  as  if  I  had  been  lying  there  all  the  time.     I 

15  "  Autobiography  of  Maharshi  Devendranath  Tagore."     Translated  from 
the  Bengalee  by  Satyendranath  Tagore,  p.  3. 
le  Op.  eit.,  p.  4. 


TWO  TYPES  OF  COISTVERSIO:^  135 

would  go  alone  to  the  Botanical  Gardens  in  the  middle  of  the 
day,  whenever  I  got  a  chance.  It  was  a  very  secluded,  soli- 
tary spot.  I  used  to  take  my  seat  on  a  tombstone  in  the  mid- 
dle of  the  gardens.  Great  grief  was  in  my  heart.  Darkness 
was  all  around  mc.  The  temptations  of  the  world  had  ceased 
but  the  sense  of  God  was  no  nearer, —  earthly  and  heavenly 
happiness  were  alike  withdrawn.  Life  was  dreary,  the  world 
was  like  a  graveyard.  I  found  happiness  in  nothing,  peace  in 
nothing.  The  rays  of  the  midday  sun  seemed  to  me  black.  .  .  . 
At  that  time  this  song  suddenly  broke  from  my  lips :  '  Yain, 
oh  vain  is  the  light  of  day,  without  knowledge  all  is  dark  as 
night. ^  This  was  my  first  song.  I  used  to  sing  it  out  loud  sit- 
ting alone  on  the  tombstone."  ^^ 
/  Young  Tagore's  search  was,  therefore,  largely  an  intellec-  . 
tual  one,  and  I  am  glad  to  have  another  example  besides  that 
of  Ardigo  to  emphasize  an  element  in  the  conversion  experi- 
ence usually  quite  neglected.  But  it  would  be  a  great  mis- 
take to  regard  Tagore's  search  as  purely  intellectual.  It  was 
his  heart  more  than  his  head  that  felt  unsatisfied.  He  was 
looking  for  —  or  waiting  for  —  a  view  of  God  and  of  human 
destiny  that  should  both  satisfy  the  demands  of  an  increas- 
ingly critical  intellect  and  also  appeal  so  strongly  to  his  emo- 
tional nature  as  to  rouse  all  his  slumbering  enthusiasms  and 
loyalties.  The  universe  seemed  barren  to  him  and  life  empty 
and  worthless.  What  he  needed  chiefly  was  not  merely  an 
answer  to  intellectual  puzzles,  and  much  less  a  succession  of 
pleasing  and  peaceful  feeling  states,  but  a  new  and  intense 
value,  a  pearl  of  great  price,  around  which  he  might  unify 
his  life  and  by  the  aid  by  which  he  might  realize  his  moral 
self.  Tagore  cannot  be  described  as  a  divided  self,  as  are  so 
many  subjects  of  conversion;  but  he  lacked  the  unity  of  de- 
veloped moral  selfhood  because  he  had  as  yet  found  nothing  big 
enough  to  appeal  to  his  big  nature.  Life  was  stale,  flat,  unprofit- 
able. His  disposition  might  be  described  as  essentially  meta- 
physical', his  interests  were  cosmic,  and  so  long  as  the  cosmos 
seemed  to  him  either  dark  or  unworthy  he  must  continue  to  be 
not  only  unhappy  but  irresolute,  inactive,  with  dissipated  and 
unused  powers,  and  lacking  in  that  concentration  of  interest 

17  P.  7. 


136  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

and  purpose  which  is  necessary  for  a  fully  developed  moral 
self.  What  he  needed  was  a  new  center  of  loyalty ;  and  he 
could  be  utterly  loyal  to  nothing  short  of  an  all-inclusive  yet 
spiritual  God. 

He  found  Him  at  last.  As  in  so  many  conversion  cases, 
the  process  was  gradual  and  the  final  consummation  sudden. 
The  process  of  thinking:  out  the  world  riddle,  with  some  help 
from  English  philosophical  books  and  from  childish  memories 
of  Ham  Mohun  Roy,  continued  about  four  years  without 
brinffine:  anv  noticeable  satisfaction.  Considerable  intellectual 
insight  indeed  was  gained,  and  the  young  thinker  resolutely 
gave  up  all  sanctioning  of  idolatrous  worship,  and  became  con- 
vinced, so  far  as  his  intellect  was  concerned,  of  the  probability 
of  the  existence  of  one  God.  More,  therefore,  had  probably 
been  accomplished  below  the  surface  than  he  himself  knew. 
Gradually  the  emotional  forces  of  his  nature  were  being  pre- 
pared for  the  complete  unification  and  satisfaction  that  seem 
now,  as  we  look  upon  the  case,  to  have  been  almost  inevitable 
for  a  nature  such  as  his.  The  needed  touch  which  brought 
the  spiritual  forces  at  last  into  a  state  of  stable  equilibrium 
and  made  evident  upon  the  surface  what  for  so  long  had  been 
going  on  in  the  depths,  came  about  (as  in  the  case  of  St. 
Augustine  ^^)  by  what  most  of  us  would  call  a  mere  chance. 
But  however  we  may  interpret  events  of  this  sort,  the  pious 
souls  who  experience  them  —  the  Augustines  and  Tagores  — 
inevitablv  see  in  them  the  hand  of  God.  Let  Devendranath 
himself  describe  what  occurred: 

"  When  I  was  in  this  depressed  state  of  mind,  one  day  all 
of  a  sudden  I  saw  a  page  from  some  Sanskrit  book  flutter  past 
me.  Out  of  curosity  I  picked  it  up,  but  found  I  could  un- 
derstand nothing  of  what  was  written  on  it."  Taking  it  to 
a  learned  Sanskrit  scholar,  he  got  it  translated.  It  was  a  page 
from  one  of  the  old  Upanishads,  the  most  sacred  and  authori- 
tative of  the  philosophical  books  of  India,  and  it  expounded  the 
omnipresence  of  the  Divine  and  its  unity  with  the  human 
spirit.  "  When  I  learned  the  explanation,"  Tagore  continues, 
"  nectar  from  paradise  streamed  down  upon  me.  I  had  been 
eager  to  receive  a  sympathetic  response  from  men,  now  a  di- 

18  See  the  Confessions,  Book  Vlll,  Chap.  12. 


TWO  TYPES  OF  COISTVEKSION  137 

vine  voice  had  descended  from  heaven  to  respond  to  my  heart 
of  hearts,  and  my  longing  was  satisfied.  I  wanted  to  see  God 
everywhere,  and  I  found  just  what  I  wanted.  I  had  never 
heard  my  inmost  thoughts  expressed  like  this  anywhere  else. 
Could  men  give  any  such  response  ?  The  very  mercy  of  God 
Himself  descended  into  my  heart,  therefore  I  understood  the 
deep  significance  of  the  words.  Oh  what  words  were  these 
that  struck  my  ears !  Enjoy  that  which  He  has  given  unto 
thee !  What  is  it  that  He  has  given  ?  He  has  given  Himself. 
Enjoy  that  untold  treasure,  leave  everything  else  and  enjoy 
that  supreme  treasure.  Cleave  unto  Him  alone  and  give  up 
all  else.  Blessed  heyond  measure  is  he  who  cleaves  unto  Him 
alone.     This  tells  me  that  which  I  have  long  desired. 

"  The  keenness  of  my  sorrow  had  lain  with  this,  that  I  was 
dead  to  all  happiness,  earthly  or  divine;  I  could  take  no  de- 
light in  the  things  of  this  world.  I  could  feel  no  joy  in  God. 
But  when  the  Divine  voice  declared  that  I  should  renounce  all 
desire  of  worldly  pleasure  and  take  my  delight  in  God  alone, 
I  obtained  what  I  had  wished  for,  and  was  utterly  flooded 
with  joy.  It  was  not  the  dictum  of  my  own  poor  intellect,  it 
was  the  word  of  God  Himself.  Glory  be  to  that  Rlshi  in  whose 
heart  this  truth  was  first  revealed !  My  faith  in  God  took  deep 
root ;  in  lieu  of  world  pleasure  I  tasted  divine  joy.  Oh !  what 
a  blessed  day  was  that  for  me  —  a  day  of  heavenly  hap- 
piness !  "  ^^ 

And  this  time  the  happiness  and  the  peace  were  destined 
never  to  be  lost.  Throughout  a  long  life  Devendranath  Tagore 
carried  them  with  him  and  lived  in  the  light  of  them.  His 
slumbering  loyalties  were  now  enlisted  in  the  cause  of  spreading 
the  knowledge  and  the  worship  of  the  true  God;  and  life,  pre- 
viously so  empty,  became  full  and  rich  and  satisfying.  He 
rejuvenated  the  moribund  Brahmo  Samaj  and  made  it  a  power 
for  righteousness  and  for  religion  throughout  Bengal ;  and  all 
who  knew  him  came  to  recognize  in  him  one  of  those  rare  souls 
who  live  as  in  the  presence  of  a  spiritual  world. 

There  is  nothing  peculiar  in  these  Indian  cases.  They  fol- 
low lines  of  development  psychologically  identical  with  those 
traceable  in  many  a  Christian  conversion.     Tagore's  case,  for 

19  Pp.  14-16. 


138  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

example,  is  paralleled  in  most  essentials  by  Tolstoi's.  Like 
Tagore,  Tolstoi  found  the  external  and  superstitious  religion 
of  his  ehildhood  and  of  those  about  him  quite  insufficient  for 
his  needs.  For  a  time,  therefore,  (and  in  this  detail  he  is  un- 
like Tagore)  he  lived  without  religion  of  any  sort,  putting  the 
ultimate  questions  out  of  his  mind  by  a  life  of  excitement  and 
pleasure.  But  the  questions  returned,  and  with  them  came  the 
sense  of  the  emptiness  of  life  which  had  so  afflicted  the  young 
Tagore.  "  I  had  moments  of  perplexity,"  he  wTites  in  his  ''  Con- 
fession," "  of  a  stoppage,  as  it  were,  of  life,  as  if  I  did  not  know 
how  I  was  to  live  and  what  I  w^as  to  do,  and  I  began  to  wonder 
and  was  a  victim  of  low  spirits.  These  stoppages  of  life  always 
presented  themselves  to  me  with  the  same  questions:  ^  Why? 
and  What  after  V  ,  .  ,  ,  1  became  aware  that  this  w^as  not  a 
chance  indisposition,  but  something  very  serious,  and  that 
if  all  these  questions  continued  to  recur,  I  should  have  to  find 
an  answer  to  them. 

"  Before  occupying  myself  with  my  Samara  estate,  with  the 
education  of  my  son,  with  the  writing  of  books,  I  was  bound 
to  know  why  I  did  these  things.  As  long  as  I  do  not  know 
the  reason  *  why '  I  cannot  do  anything,  I  cannot  live.  ...  I 
could  find  no  reply.  Such  questions  will  not  wait :  they  de- 
mand an  immediate  answer:  without  one  it  is  impossible  to 
live :  but  answer  there  was  none. 

"  I  felt  that  the  ground  on  which  I  stood  was  crumbling,  that 
there  was  nothing  for  me  to  stand  on,  that  w^hat  I  had  been  liv- 
ing for  was  nothing,  that  I  had  no  reason  for  living.  My  life 
had  come  to  a  stop.  I  was  able  to  breathe,  to  eat,  to  drink, 
to  sleep,  and  I  could  not  help  breathing,  eating,  drinking,  sleep- 
ing, but  there  was  no  real  life  in  me  because  I  had  not  a  single 
desire  the  fulfillment  of  which  I  could  feel  to  be  reasonable.  .  .  . 
The  truth  was  that  life  was  meaningless."  ^^ 

Tolstoi's  case  can  hardlv  be  described  as  that  of  a  "  divided 
self."  No  struggle  between  discordant  forces  is  to  be  detected 
in  his  experience.  Rather  is  his  case,  like  that  of  Tagore,  one 
in  which  no  center  of  loyalty  capable  of  arousing  his  enthus- 
iasms and  enlisting  his  energies  had  as  yet  been  found.  "  The 
truth  is  that  life  was  meaningless."     Two  things  here  are  es- 

20  "  My  Confession,"  Chaps.  3  and  4. 


TWO  TYPES  OF  CON^VERSION  139 

pecially  worthy  of  note.  Although  Tolstoi  had  previously 
given  himself  up  for  years  to  a  life  of  dissipation  there  is  no 
trace  in  all  his  five  years  of  depression  of  anything  remotely 
resembling  the  "  conviction  of  sin  "  so  prominent  in  the  conven- 
tional conversion.  Instead  of  being  fastened  upon  his  past  sins, 
his  attention  was  fixed  upon  the  world  problem  and  was  busied 
searching  for  a  solution.  And  this  brings  us  to  the  second  char- 
acteristic in  Tolstoi's  conversion  process  that  I  wished  to  point 
out, —  namely  that  it  was  a  process  of  active  search,  and  that 
the  effort  he  made  played  at  least  a  very  important  role  in  the 
final  victory.  As  in  Tagore's  case,  the  process  was  in  part  an 
intellectual  one;  and  though,  indeed,  Tolstoi's  pondering  over 
the  problem  was  for  a  long  time  quite  barren,  so  far  as  im- 
mediate results  were  concerned,  in  the  end  the  rational  process 
proved  a  helpful  guide,  and  —  what  was  more  important  still  — 
the  very  effort  to  think  the  thing  out  kept  the  faculty  of  effort 
alive  and  with  it  some  sparks  of  courage  and  self-trust.  In 
spite  of  his  temporary  intellectual  conviction  that  life  was 
naught,  in  spite  of  his  despair  and  depression,  he  kept  up  the 
struggle,  and  the  living  energy  within  him, —  unaided  by  any 
happy  chance  such  as  those  that  brought  succor  to  Augustine 
and  Tagore  —  together  with  a  new  and  slowly  da\vning  rational 
insight,  finally  and  gradually  brought  him  the  new  center  of 
loyalty  which  made  him  over  into  complete  moral  selfhood. 
By  consulting  his  own  experience  and  by  watching  the  simple 
and  happy  and  successful  lives  of  pious  peasants  about  him  who 
lived  by  the  aid  of  an  unfaltering  religious  belief,  he  came  to 
see  and  to  feel  —  to  understand  from  within  —  that  faith  in 
God  was  not  only  defensible  but  that  it  alone  could  give  ultimate 
meaning  to  life.  In  it  he  therefore  found  at  last  something 
that  enlisted  all  his  loyalties,  and  to  the  end  of  his  days  he 
lived  and  worked  unperturbed  and  with  unified  energies  in  the 
light  of  this  apprehension. 

The  four  cases  we  have  considered  —  one  from  Roman  Catho- 
licism, two  from  Hinduism,  and  one  from  the  Russian  Church 
—  differ  considerably  in  detail,  yet  have  many  important  points 
in  common.  For  one  thing,  all  four  of  the  men  we  have 
studied  knew  more  or  less  clearly  what  they  wanted  and  exerted 
all  their  energies,  in  very  direct  and  manly  fashion,  toward 


140  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

attaining  it.  Although  in  each  case  the  question  of  life's  chief 
values  was  the  center  of  the  struggle,  none  of  them  was  satisfied, 
or  would  have  been  satisfied,  with  any  sort  of  merely  emotional 
state.  They  were  not  seeking  for  some  change  in  their  feel- 
ings but  for  something  very  much  more  objective.  And  the 
outcome  of  the  process  in  each  case  not  only  brought  the  man 
a  new  sense  of  calm  and  satisfaction, —  that  to  each  of  them 
was  the  smallest  part  of  it;  it  made  him  over  into  a  new 
creature. 

From  these  very  intelligible  cases  of  conversion  we  turn  now 
to  a  quite  different  type  —  the  type  namely  that  has  served  as 
the  conventional  model  in  a  large  part  of  Christendom  for  sev- 
eral centuries.  Probably  it  would  be  hard  to  find  two  better 
and  at  the  same  time  more  influential  examples  of  this  type 
than  the  cases  of  John  Bunyan  and  David  Brainerd.  We  are 
fortunate,  moreover,  in  having  both  these  cases  described  for 
us  in  the  words  of  the  subjects  themselves. 

Bunyan's  childhood  was  passed  in  the  years  when  English 
Puritanism  was  approaching  its  height,^^  and  the  pietistic 
views  of  those  about  him  concerning  sin,  damnation  and  the 
rest,  sank  deep  into  his  tender  mind.  At  the  age  of  nine 
he  was  already  having  dreadful  thoughts  and  still  more  dread- 
ful dreams  of  the  Day  of  Judgment  and  the  Torments  of  Hell. 
His  besetting  sin  seems  to  have  been  swearing,  but  before  long 
he  gave  this  up  —  as  well  as  dancing  and  looking  at  the  church 
bells  in  the  "  Steeple  house  "  and  other  equally  heinous  amuse- 
ments. He  took,  moreover,  to  reading  his  Bible  and  discours- 
ing on  religion,  and  came  in  fact  to  believe  that  God  was  pleased 
with  him.  Then  one  day,  from  the  discourse  of  certain  pious 
women  to  which  he  listened,  he  learned  that  one's  own  rightr 
eousness  was  worthless  and  that  instead  of  regarding  it  as  some- 
thing noble  and  worth  striving  for  one  should  "  contemn,  slight 
and  abhor  it  as  filthy  and  unsufficient  to  do  any  good."  ^^  He 
also  learned  from  these  women  that  a  conversion  experience  was 
necessary  to  salvation  and  that  the  saved  soul  had  certain  emo- 
tional  experienced   which  he  had   never   tasted.     "  At   this," 

21  He  was  born  in  1628. 

22  See  section  37  of  Bunyan's  "  Grace  Abounding." 


TWO  TYPES  OF  CONVEESIOIST  141 

he  tells  us,  "  I  felt  my  own  heart  begin  to  shake,  and  mistrust 
my  condition  to  be  naught;  for  I  saw  that  in  all  my  thoughts 
about  Religion  and  Salvation  the  new  Birth  did  never  enter  into 
my  Mind,  neither  knew  I  the  Comfort  of  the  Word  and  Prom- 
ise, nor  the  Deceitfulness  and  Treachery  of  my  own  wicked 
Heart.  ...  I  was  greatly  affected  by  their  words,  both  because 
by  them  I  was  convinced  that  I  wanted  the  true  Tokens  of  a 
truly  Godly  Man,  and  also  because  by  them  I  was  convinced 
of  the  happy  and  blessed  Condition  of  him  that  was  such  an 
one."  23 

With  convictions  of  this  sort  deep  in  his  heart  Bunyan  went 
through  many  wretched  years,  seeking  for  nothing  in  particu- 
lar, for  he  knew  of  nothing  definite  for  which  to  seek,  striving 
for  nothing  in  particular,  because  striving  and  self-help  he  had 
been  taught  were  useless  and  worse  than  useless,  but  chiefly 
wondering  whether  he  were  saved  or  not  and  gradually  coming 
to  the  conclusion  that  he  was  probably  damned.  Salvation,  he 
knew,  came  by  faith ;  but  "  faith  ''  did  not  mean  the  intellectual 
acceptance  of  a  doctrine  nor  anything  else  that  was  definite :  it 
meant  apparently  some  kind  of  mental  state  and  inner  assur- 
ance, of  so  vague  a  character  that  the  poor  young  man  was  quite 
at  a  loss  to  know  whether  he  had  it  or  not.  Forever,  he  tells  us, 
there  was  running  in  his  mind  the  question,  "  But  how  if  you 
want  Faith  indeed  ?  But  how  can  you  tell  if  you  have  Faith  ? 
And  besides  I  saw  for  certain,  if  I  had  it  not,  I  was  sure  to 
perish  forever."  ^4 

Thus  "  the  sight  and  sense  and  terror  of  his  own  wickedness  " 
grew  upon  him  and  the  dreadful  fear  lest  he  were  damned. 
And  then  came  a  new  fear,  namely  the  fear  of  losing  his  fear 
and  his  depressing  sense  of  guilt.  "  For  I  found  that  unless 
guilt  of  conscience  was  taken  off  the  right  way,  that  is  by  the 
Blood  of  Christ,  a  man  grew  rather  worse  for  the  loss  of  his 
troubles  of  Mind  than  better.  Wherefore  if  my  guilt  lay  hard 
upon  me  then  I  should  cry  that  the  blood  of  Christ  might  take 
it  off :  and  if  it  was  going  off  without  it  (for  the  sense  of  Sin 
would  be  sometimes  as  if  it  would  die,  and  go  quite  away)  then 
I  would  also  strive  to  fetch  it  upon  my  heart  again."     Thus 

23  Sections  39  and  40. 

24  Section  49. 


l-i2  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

for  years  Bun  van  did  his  best  to  cultivate  the  sense  of  sin  and 
make  it  lial)itual :  and  with  roniarkablo  success.^* 

It  would  take  too  long  to  follow  Bunyan  through  all  the  ups 
and  downs  of  his  spiritual  sickness, —  for  there  were  ups  as  well 
as  downs;  all  of  them  due  to  no  act  of  his  but  simply  matters 
of  unreasoning  feeling.  One  of  these  breathing  spells  lasted 
for  sonic  time,  and  came  about  apparently  because  certain  com- 
forting Biblical  verses  got  to  running  in  his  head.  Bunyan  was 
all  his  life  subject  to  auditory  obsessions  of  verses  of  scripture, 
and  his  mood  seems  to  have  been  more  often  determined  by  these 
than  by  anything  else.  If  a  comfortable  verse  came  into  his 
mind  he  would  be  happy  and  conclude  that  he  had  "  Faith  " 
and  was  saved,  until  some  threatening  verse  took  the  place  of 
the  pleasant  words,  whereupon  he  would  fall  into  the  depths  of 
misery  and  conclude  that  he  was  lost.  For  the  whole  struggle 
with  him  was  subjective  to  the  extreme  —  a  matter  of  the  way 
he  felt.  He  was  a  spiritual  hypochondriac,  always  feeling  his 
hedonic  pulse.  He  was,  moreover,  extremely  suggestible  and 
peculiarly  subject  to  the  fascination  of  the  terrible.  The 
thought  how  dreadful  it  would  be  to  say  certain  words  would 
automatically  bring  these  words  and  their  comrades  to  his 
mind ;  and  it  was  apparently  in  this  that  his  ^'  temptations  " 
and  "  sins  "  chiefly  consisted.  It  was,  in  fact,  in  this  way  that 
he  fell  again  —  after  his  one  fairly  long  period  of  comparative 
peace  —  into  a  fit  of  despair  longer  and  more  dreadful  than 
anything  that  had  preceded  it.  He  had  really  persuaded  him- 
self that  he  loved  Christ,  when  the  Tempter  crept  into  his  mind 
with  the  words,  "  Sell  Christ  for  this,  sell  Christ  for  that,  sell 
him !  sell  him !  ''  These  words,  for  ever  running  through  his 
head,  became,  in  fact,  a  veritable  obsession.  *^  But,  to  be  brief, 
one  morning  as  I  did  lie  in  my  bed,  I  was,  as  at  other  times, 

25  Especially  was  it  "  the  unpardonable  sin  "  that  he  either  thought  he 
had  (unwittingly)  committed,  or  else  —  from  the  vertiginous  fascination 
of  the  terrible  —  felt  bound  to  commit,  with  no  definite  notion  as  to 
what  this  sin  might  be  except,  apparently  that  it  was  somehow  to  be 
committed  by  saying  certain  words  (though  what  words  does  not  appear). 
"  And  in  so  strong  a  measure  was  this  temptation  upon  me  that  often  I 
have  been  ready  to  clap  my  hand  under  my  chin  to  hold  my  mouth  from 
opening,  and  to  that  end  also  I  have  had  thoughts  other  times  to  leap 
with  my  head  downward  into  some  muck-hill  hole  or  other,  to  keep  my 
mouth  from  speaking."      (Section  103.) 


TWO  TYPES  OF  C0NVERSI0:N^  143 

most  fiercely  assaulted  with  this  temptation,  to  sell  and  part 
with  Christ;  the  wicked  suggestion  still  running  in  my  mind, 
Sell  Mm,  sell  him,  sell  him,  sell  him,  as  fast  as  man  could  speak. 
Against  which  also,  as  at  other  times,  I  answered.  No,  no,  not 
for  thousands,  thousands,  thousands,  at  least  twenty  times  to- 
gether. But  at  last,  after  much  striving,  even  until  I  was  al- 
most out  of  breath,  I  felt  this  thought  pass  through  my  heart. 
Let  him  go,  if  he  will!  and  I  thought  also  that  I  felt  my  heart 
freely  consent  thereto.  Oh  the  diligence  of  Satan!  Oh  the 
desperateness  of  man's  heart !  'Now  was  the  battle  won  [i.  e. 
by  Satan],  and  down  fell  I,  like  a  Bird  that  is  shot  from  the 
top  of  a  tree,  into  great  guilt  and  fearful  despair.  Thus  getting 
out  of  my  Bed  I  went  moping  into  the  field;  but  God  knows 
with  as  heavy  a  heart  as  a  mortal  man,  I  think,  could  bear; 
where  for  the  space  of  two  hours  I  was  like  a  man  bereft  of  life 
and  as  now  past  all  recovery  and  bound  over  to  eternal  punish- 
ment. And  withal  that  scripture  did  seize  upon  my  soul,  ^  Or 
profane  person  as  Esau  who  for  one  morsel  of  meat  sold  his 
birthright;  for  ye  know  how  that  afterward,  when  he  would 
have  inherited  the  blessing,  he  was  rejected;  for  he  found  no 
place  of  repentance,  though  he  sought  it  carefully  with 
tears.'  "  ^e 

This  state  of  utter  depression  lasted  for  two  years,  during 
which  Bunyan  felt  almost  continuously  the  mental  sufferings  of 
the  damned,  being  convinced  that  he  had  committed  the  un- 
pardonable sin.  Occasionally  he  would  get  a  little  respite 
through  the  entrance  into  his  mind  of  the  words  of  some  scrip- 
tural verse,  such  as  "  The  blood  of  Jesus  Christ,  His  Son, 
cleanseth  us  from  all  sin."  But  as  soon  as  the  verberations  of 
these  words  died  out  of  his  mind  the  old  misery  returned ;  and 
ever  like  a  refrain,  driving  out  all  other  thoughts,  would  come 
back  to  him  the  dreadful  words  about  Esau, —  "  for  he  found  no 
place  of  repentance,  though  he  sought  it  carefully  with  tears."  ^"^ 

26  Sections  139-141. 

27  The  extremes  to  which  his  mental  suflFering  went  are  to  be  seen  in 
passages  like  the  following:  "  Then  was  I  struck  into  a  very  great  trembling, 
insomuch  that  at  sometimes  I  could,  for  whole  days  together,  feel  my 
very  body,  as  well  as  my  mind,  to  shake  and  totter  under  the  sense  of  the 
dreadful  Judgment  of  God,  that  should  fall  on  those  that  have  sinned 
that  most  fearful  and  unpardonable  sin,  I  felt  also  such  a  clogging  and 
heat  at  my  stomach,  by  reason  of  this  my  terror,  that  I  was,  especially 


U4:  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

Poor  Buuyaii  eventually  got  out  of  his  trouble  in  the  same 
way  he  got  into  it, —  that  is  to  say  by  the  obsession  of  scriptural 
verses.  The  decisive  struggle  —  so  far  as  there  was  any  really 
decisive  struggle  —  occupied  about  seven  weeks  at  the  close  of 
his  two  years  of  *'  conviction."  Nothing  happened,  apparently, 
except  that  the  comforting  verses  came  into  his  mind  more  often 
and  stayed  longer,  and  the  terrifying  ones  gradually  lost  their 
hypnotic  power.  Yet  they  did  not  yield  to  their  rivals  with- 
out many  a  fierce  battle.  "  My  peace,"  he  writes,  "  would  be 
in  and  out,  sometimes  twenty  times  a  day:  Comfort  now,  and 
Trouble  presently :  Peace  now,  and  before  I  could  go  a  furlong 
as  full  of  Fear  and  Guilt  as  ever  heart  could  hold :  and  this  was 
not  only  now  and  then,  but  my  whole  seven  weeks  of  experience ; 
for  this  about  the  sufficiency  of  Grace,  and  that  of  Esau's  part- 
ing with  his  Birthright,  would  be  like  a  pair  of  scales  within 
my  mind;  sometimes  one  end  would  be  uppermost,  and  some- 
times again  the  other:  according  to  which  would  be  my  peace 
or  trouble."  ^^ 

Peace  at  last  got  the  better  of  trouble,  as  I  have  said,  but  the 
victory,  if  so  we  may  call  it,  was  utterly  devoid  of  moral  sig- 
nificance. Bunyan  himself,  in  fact,  had  nothing  to  do  with  it 
(which,  indeed,  according  to  the  received  view  of  conversion 
^  seems  to  be  quite  the  orthodox  and  proper  thing)  ;  he  was  merely 
•  the  passive  battle  ground  between  the  Esau  verse  with  its  allies, 
and  the  Sufficiency  verse  with  its  reinforcements.  The  vic- 
tory, therefore,  was  not  his,  but  merely  that  of  one  mental  ob- 
session and  its  feeling  tone  over  another,  and  is  of  real  interest 
only  as  a  psychological  and  even  pathological  phenomenon. 
No  new  insight  was  gained,  no  new  resolve  was  made,  no  change 
of  values  was  brought  about,  no  new  birth  was  effected,  no  moral 
selfhood  was  achieved.  Bunyan's  real  conversion  was  the  in- 
ner change  of  values  that  took  place  somewhere  between  his 
self-centered  youth  and  his  truly  Christian  years  in  Bedford 

at  Bometimes,  as  if  my  breast  bone  would  have  split  asunder.  Then  I 
thought  of  that  concerning  Judas,  who,  hy  his  falling  headlong,  hurst 
asunder  and  all  his  bowels  gushed  out  .  .  .  Thus  did  I  wind  and  twine 
and  shrink  under  the  burden  that  was  upon  me;  which  burden  also  did 
so  oppress  me  that  I  could  neither  stand,  nor  go  nor  lie,  either  at  rest  or 
quiet."  (Sections  164,  165.) 
28  Section  205. 


TWO  TYPES  OF  CONVERSION  145 

jail.  But  of  this  process  we  get  scarcely  a  suggestion  in  all 
his  long  account.  The  "  conversion  "  which  he  has  described 
to  us  and  which  has  been  held  up  as  a  splendid  example  by  all 
the  generations  of  evangelical  teachers  from  his  day  to  ours  is 
almost  entirely  a  matter  of  feeling,  and  has  little  more  moral 
significance  than  the  struggle,  which  most  of  us  have  experi- 
enced, between  two  haunting  and  obsessing  tunes  which  go  run- 
ning on  in  a  man's  mind  till  one  drives  the  other  out. 

I  have  gone  thus  into  detail  in  Bunyan's  case  (in  spite  of  its 
pathological  characteristics)  because  of  the  marked  influence  of 
preconceived  ideas  of  conversion  in  determining  most  of  its 
course,  and  also  because  of  the  influence  it  has  had  in  fixing  and 
strengthening  the  outlines  of  the  conventional  conversion  ex- 
perience ever  since.  Our  second  orthodox  case  of  conversion  is 
much  less  extreme,  and  in  fact  is  quite  common  place  and  usual, 
yet  follows  the  same  general  outlines  as  Bunyan's.  For  this 
reason  it  may  be  treated  in  much  less  detail.  David  Brainerd 
(who  was  bom  in  Connecticut  in  1718)  was  brought  up  under 
most  orthodox  and  pious  influences  and  was,  apparently,  always 
a  serious  and  model  boy  and  youth  —  although  up  to  the  ad- 
vanced age  of  eight  he  had  experienced  no  conviction  of  sin. 
At  nineteen  he  "  imagined  "  that  he  did  dedicate  himself  to  the 
Lord,  though  he  came  to  recognize  later  on  that  he  had  not 
really  done  so  and  as  yet  was  ignorant  of  the  real  nature  of  the 
new  birth.  About  a  year  thereafter,  while  a  student  at  Yale 
College,  he  experienced  his  first  real  "  conviction  of  sin."  It 
was,  of  course,  not  any  sin  in  particular,  but  sin  in  general  of 
which  he  was  convicted :  and  as  was  the  case  with  Bunyan 
(and  as,  indeed,  is  almost  inevitable  for  one  confronted  by  so 
terrible  but  illusory  a  difficulty)  he  went  through  a  period  of 
great  depression.  For,  according  to  the  established  theory  of 
conversion  prevalent  at  the  time,  the  sinner  can  do  nothing  at 
all  to  get  rid  of  his  sin  or  to  help  himself;  he  can  in  fact  do 
nothing  at  all  but  wait  and  watch  his  feelings  and  cultivate 
conviction  and  despair.  The  difficulty,  in  fact,  consists  just  in 
the  natural  tendency  to  strive  to  do  something,  a  tendency  which 
has  to  be  overcome  before  real  conversion  is  possible.  It  was 
a  long  time  before  young  Brainerd  could  really  bring  himself 
into  this  passive  and  desperate  state  of  mind.     "  Hundreds  of 


146  THE  KELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

times  I  rcnouncod  all  pretenses  of  any  worth  in  my  duties,  as 
I  thought,  even  while  performing  them ;  and  often  confessed  to 
God  that  I  desers'ed  nothing  for  the  very  best  of  them  but  eter- 
nal condemnation  ;  yet  still  1  had  a  secret  hope  of  recommending 
myself  to  God  by  religious  duties.  .  .  .  Sometimes  I  was 
greatly  encouraged  and  imagined  that  God  loved  me  and  was 
pleased  with  me,  and  thought  I  should  soon  be  fully  reconciled 
to  God.  But  the  whole  was  founded  on  mere  presumption, 
arising  from  enlargement  in  duty  or  warmth  of  affections,  or 
some  good  resolutions  or  the  like.  And  when,  at  times,  great 
distress  began  to  arise  on  the  subject  of  my  vileness  and  inabil- 
ity to  deliver  myself  from  a  sovereign  God,  I  used  to  put  off  the 
discovery,  as  what  I  could  not  bear.  .  .  .  Thus  though  I  daily 
longed  for  greater  conviction  of  sin;  supposing  that  I  must  see 
more  of  my  dreadful  state  in  order  to  remedy;  yet  when  the 
discoveries  of  my  vile,  wicked  heart  were  made  to  me,  the  sight 
was  so  dreadful  and  showed  me  so  plainly  my  exposedness  to 
damnation,  that  I  could  not  endure  it."  ^* 

Thus  Brainerd  found  himself  in  the  same  desperate  dilemma 
which  had  confronted  Bunvan :  his  conviction  of  sin  and  fear 
of  damnation  were  his  torment,  yet  the  one  thing  he  feared 
most  was  the  loss  of  fear  and  of  conviction,  for  only  by  them 
had  he  any  hope ;  and  at  the  same  time  if  he  took  any  comfort 
out  of  the  hope  arising  from  his  fear  this  hope  seemed  sinful 
and  a  new  obstacle  in  the  way  of  salvation.^^  It  is  significant 
that  in  all  his  detailed  description  of  his  "  conviction  of  sin  " 
he  does  not  mention  any  particular  sin,  whether  positive  or 
negative,  of  which  he  was  guilty.  "  Conviction  "  for  him,  as 
for  Bunyan,  was  the  sense  of  sin  rather  than  any  recognition  of 
definite  acts  or  negligences,  and  this  se7ise  he  diligently  fostered 
and  hugged,  exactly  as  the  Catholic  ascetic  or  Indian  sadhu 

29  See  the  extracts  from  Brainerd' 8  Journal  in  Jonathan  Edwards's  "  Life 
of  the  Rev.  David  Brainerd,"  Chap.  I,  (to  be  found  in  Vol.  I  of  Edwards's 
Works;  New  York,  Lcavitt;   1844). 

30  "  When  at  any  time  I  took  a  view  of  my  convictions  and  thought  the 
degree  of  them  to  be  considerable,  I  was  wont  to  trust  in  them;  but  this 
confidence  and  the  hope  of  soon  making  some  notable  advances  toward 
deliverance,  would  ease  my  mind,  and  I  soon  became  more  senseless  and 
remiss.  Again,  when  I  discerned  my  convictions  to  grow  languid  and 
thought  them  about  to  leave  me,  this  immediately  alarmed  and  distressed 
me,"  etc.,  etc. 


TWO  TYPES  OF  CONVERSION^  147 

hugs  physical  sufferings.  The  nearest  approach  to  a  definite 
statement  of  a  definite  sin  to  be  found  in  this  section  of  Brain- 
erd's  account  is  a  reference  to  thoughts  which,  against  all  his 
efforts,  would  slip  into  his  mind  by  the  sheer  fascination  of 
the  hateful  —  as  was  the  case  with  Bunyan ;  and  though  neither 
Bunyan  nor  Brainerd  consented  to  these  thoughts,  the  mere 
fact  that  they  ever  got  entrance  seemed  to  prove  them  exceed- 
ing sinful. 

Finally,  as  in  Bunyan's  case,  the  miserable  period  came  to  a 
close  of  its  own  motion.  Wearied  out  by  the  effort  to  realize 
his  own  utter  helplessness  he  came  to  feel  helpless  indeed  and 
desperate  and  damned,  and  hence  stopped  trying  to  make  any 
efforts.  "  I  had  thought  many  times  before  that  the  difficulties 
in  my  way  were  very  great;  but  now. I  saw,  in  another  and  very 
different  light,  that  it  was  for  ever  im^wssible  for  me  to  do 
anything  toward  helping  or  delivering  myself."  A  few  days 
after  this  state  of  utter  dejection  and  effortless  desperation  had 
come  upon  him,  the  feeling  of  oppression  gave  way  suddenly 
and  without  any  apparent  reason  to  a  feeling  of  great  joy  and 
peace,  and  Brainerd  began  to  hope  that  he  was  saved.  Thus 
as  in  Bunyan^s  case,  the  whole  drama  was  one  of  feeling,  and 
all  that  was  accomplished  was  the  substitution  of  one  feeling 
for  another.  No  new  insight  had  been  gained,  no  change  of 
will  or  of  character  had  been  wrought,  no  new  ideals  had  been 
revealed,  no  new  unification  of  purpose,  no  new  devotion  of 
self  and  its  energies  brought  about.  He  had  merely  gone 
through  the  conventional  and  approved  triad  of  emotions  —  (1) 
neutral,  (2)  depressed,  (3)  elated.^^ 

31  Mrs.  Burr  makes  reference  to  over  a  hundred  cases  of  depression 
similar  to  that  of  Bunyan  and  Brainerd,  "  Religious  Confessions  and  Con- 
fessants"   (Boston,  Houghton,  Mifflin:   1914),  pp.  250-62. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE   FACTORS   AT    WOBK    IN   CONVEBSION 

In  the  preceding  chapter  I  liave  tried  merely  to  describe  the 
phenomenon  of  conversion  by  the  presentation  of  six  typical 
cases.  These  cases,  however,  as  the  reader  will  remember,  fell 
naturally  into  two  quite  distinct  groups.  It  will  be  the  aim  of 
this  chapter  to  investigate  the  causes  of  this  difference,  and 
then  to  explain  so  far  as  I  can  the  more  important  phenomena 
of  conversion  as  such. 

When  we  compare  the  cases  of  Bunyan  and  Brainerd  with 
the  four  other  cases  described  in  the  preceding  chapter,  the 
contrast  is  very  striking ;  and  the  explanation  of  the  contrast  is 
not  far  to  seek.  One  cannot  read  an  account  of  a  conversion 
of  the  Bunyan-Brainerd  type  without  seeing  that  its  whole 
course  is  laid  down  along  conventional  lines  predetermined  for 
it  by  an  accepted  and  unquestioned  theolog;^^  The  tap  root  of 
this  set  of  ideas  concerning  the  necessary  development  of  in- 
dividual religion  is  to  be  traced  back  at  least  as  far  as  Mar- 
tin Luther  —  if  indeed  it  does  not  go  back  to  Augustine  and  St. 
Paul.  In  his  attack  upon  the  Roman  Catholic  view  that  re- 
ligious merit  may  be  acquired  by  penances  and  other  "  works," 
Luther  laid  great  emphasis  upon  his  new  insight  that  true  sal- 
vation is  an  inner  matter  and  can  never  be  attained  by  mere 
obedience  to  the  Law.  He  saw,  moreover,  that  few  things  stand 
more  in  the  way  of  true  spiritual  regeneration  than  the  kind 
of  self-righteousness  which  partial  obedience  to  the  Law  na- 
turally induces.  The  great  value  of  the  Law,  he  therefore 
taught,  consists  in  setting  up  a  standard  which  it  shall  be  im- 
possible for  us  to  reach  and  thus  bringing  home  to  us  our  own 
imperfection  and  our  need  of  divine  Grace  —  which  comes  to 
us  through  faith.  Thus  we  shall  come  to  realize  that  we  can 
really  do  nothing  for  ourselves;  and  the  first  step  towards 
salvation  is  the  recognition  of  our  own.  helplessness.^     Natu- 

1  This  view  is  perhaps  most  clearlv  expressed  in  Luther's  Commentary  on 

'l48 


THE  FACTOES  AT  WOEK  1^  CONVEESION      149 

rally  enough  in  nearly  all  evangelical  sects  after  Luther's  time, 
the  uselessness  of  voluntary  effort,  our  own  utter  worthlessness, 
and  the  entirely  supernatural  quality  of  conversion  and  sal- 
vation came  to  take  on  more  and  more  importance.  Calvin's 
great  emphasis  upon  sin,  moreover,  reinforced  the  influence  of 
Luther's  denunciation  of  self-help.  Absolute  acceptance  of  the 
teachings  of  theology  was,  of  course,  presupposed  as  a  necessity 
for  salvation,  but  beyond  that  intellectual  insight  was  considered 
of  no  more  avail  than  voluntary  effort  or  virtue  or  "  works." 
Hence  the  attention  of  every  one  desiring  salvation  —  since  it 
was  vain  to  center  it  on  thought  or  deed  or  will  —  was  inevitably 
fixed  upon  feeling.  Feeling  indeed  could  help  —  the  feeling 
of  one's  own  "  devilshness  "  and  despair  —  and  nothing  else 
could.  Moreover  by  feeling  alone  could  one  come  to  be  aware 
of  the  miraculous  action  of  Grace  in  the  processes  of  Adoption^ 
Sanctification  and  the  rest.  Hence  the  gaze  of  the  young  evan- 
gelical who  earnestly  desired  his  soul's  salvation  was  turned 
intently  inward ;  and  more  and  more  some  violent  affective  ex- 
perience came  to  be  regarded  as  the  invariable  sign,  if  not  as 
the  very  essence,  of  conversion.  The  view  of  the  new  birth  as 
a  long  process  of  moral  development  was  spumed,  and  instead 
it  was  thought  to  be  always  something  catastrophic  and  miracul- 
ous. According  to  Macaulay,  "  the  young  candidate  for  acad- 
emical honors  [at  Cambridge  and  Oxford,  in  Cromwell's  time] 

the  Epistle  to  the  Galatians;   from  which  I  take  the  following  scattered 
sentences : 

"  Verum  officium  et  principalis  ac  proprius  usus  legis  est,  quod  revelat 
homini  suum  peccatum,  caecitatem,  miseriam,  impietatem,  ignorantiam, 
odium,  contemptum  Dei,  mortem,  infernum,  iudicium  et  commeritam  iram 
apud  Deum."  "  Quare  magnum  et  horrible  monstrum  est  Opinio  justitiae. 
Ut  ergo  Deus  eam  contundat  et  conterat,  opus  habet  ingenti  et  forti  malleo, 
lege  scilicet,  quae  malleus  est  mortis,  tonitru  inferni  et  fulmen  irae  divinae. 
At  quid?  ad  coUidendam  iustitiae  opinionem  quae  rebellis,  pertinax  ac 
durissimae  cervicis  bestia  est."  "  Sed  hoc  opus,  hie  labor  est,  ut  sic  ex- 
territus  et  contusus  lege  possit  sese  interum  erigere  et  dicere:  lam  satis 
contritus  et  contusus  sum,  satis  misere  afflixit  me  tempus  legis.  lam 
tempus  est  gratiae  et  audiendi  Christi  .  .  .  Ego,  inquit,  si  diutius  vixero, 
emendabo  vitam  meam,  hoc  et  hoc  faciam;  vel:  ingrediar  monasterium, 
parcissime  vivam  contentus  pane  et  aqua,  nudis  pedibus  incedam,  etc.  Hie 
nisi  omnino  contrarium  feceris,  hoc  est,  nisi  ablegaveris  Mosen  cum  lege 
sua  ad  securos  et  induratos  et  apprehenderis  in  istis  pavaribus  et  hor- 
roribus  Christum  possum,  crucifixum,  mortum  pro  peccatis  tuis,  actum 
est  plane  de  salute  tua "  ( Luther's  Werke,  Weimar,  Hermann  Bohlans : 
1911,  Vol.  40,  pp.  479-90  —  namely  the  comment  on  Gal.  Ill,  19). 


150  TliE  KKLIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

was  strictly  interrogated  as  to  the  day  and  hour  when  he  ex- 
prrionced  the  new  hirth."  ^  And,  as  wo  all  know,  John  Wesley 
and  the  earlv  Methodists  made  more  of  this  than  even  the  earlier 
Puritans.  As  a  matter  of  course  this  view  of  the  nature  and 
necessity  of  conversion  was  hrou'i-ht  to  Anic^rica  with  the  rest 
of  the  Puritan  theology;  and  in  tlic  early  18th  century  it 
found  great  reinforcement  at  the  hands  of  Jonathan  Edwards, 
whose  large  influence  in  evangelical  theology  has  made  it  dom- 
inant in  certain  orthodox  circles  ever  since.* 

The  important  difference  between  our  two  groups  of  conver- 
sion cases,  and  the  reasons  for  this  difference,  must  now  be  per- 
fectly plain.  It  is  an  odd  fact,  however,  that  some  of  the  lead- 
ing writers  on  the  psychology  of  conversion  have  been  only 
dimly  aware  of  this  difference  or  its  cause,  and  in  fact  have 
built  up  their  norm  and  based  their  descriptions  on  the  second 
type  rather  than  on  the  first.  Coming  thus  to  the  aid  of 
Luther,  Edwards,  and  Bunyan,  they  have  accepted  the  conven- 
tions of  theology  as  the  principles  of  human  nature.** 

2  History  of  England.     Volume  I,  Chap.  III. 

3  Edwards's  sermons  were  full  of  the  need  of  conversion  and  of  emphasis 
upon  its  emotional  nature,  and  his  practice  was  to  work  upon  the  feelings  as 
strongly  as  possible.  This  method  he  defended  at  length  in  his  "Thoughts 
on  the  Revival  of  Religion  in  New  England"  (see  esp.  Part  III),  and  in 
more  systematic  and  theoretic  fashion  in  his  "  Treatise  concerning  Religious 
A/Tections."  In  this  work  he  devotes  twenty-five  pages  to  showing  that 
"  religion  consists  much  in  holy  affection,"  and  especially  emphasizes  the 
view  that  the  true  feelings  of  conversion  are  of  a  purely  supernatural 
sort  and  are  entirely  different  from  any  other  experiences.  See  pp.  137- 
38  of  the  1821  Edition  of  the  "Treatise"  (Philadelphia,  James  Crissy). 
Mrs.  Burr  points  out  that  "  in  the  mediaeval  cases  of  conversion  the  mys- 
tical and  visionary  manifestations  are  nearer  to  the  normal  life  and  the 
conversion  crisis  itself  is  less  easily  defined."  A  marked  change  comes 
with  the  seventeenth  and  eighteenth  century  pietists.  The  contrast  is 
due,  in  her  opinion,  to  the  change  that  had  taken  place  in  men's  views 
of  the  natural  and  the  supernatural  worlds  in  the  interval  — "  Religious 
Confessions  and  Confessants."  206-97. 

♦  Starbuck,  indeed,  acknowledges  the  fact  that  conversion  is  really 
"  spontaneous  awakening  and  storm  and  stress  crystallized  into  a  dogma.'* 
But  the  reader  of  our  chapter  on  Adolescence  will  remember  how  natural 
Starbuck  regarded  the  "  conviction  "  period  of  storm  and  stress  —  quite  in 
line  with  the  evangelical  dogma  of  Original  Sin ;  and  after  the  sentence 
concerning  conversion  just  quoted  from  him  he  adds:  "Theology  takes 
these  adolescent  tendencies  and  builds  upon  them;  it  sees  that  the  essential 
thing  in  adolescent  g^o^vth  is  bringing  the  person  out  of  childhood  into  the 
new  life  of  maturity  and  personal  insight.     It  accordingly  brings  those 


THE  FACTOKS  AT  WOKK  IN  CONVERSION      151 

Not  only  have  some  influential  writers  on  the  psychology  of 
religion  pronounced  what  we  may  call  emotional  conversion  per- 
fectly normal ;  following  the  lead  of  theology  and  basing  their 
analysis  chiefly  on  cases  whose  course  has  been  determined  by 
theological  preconceptions,  they  have  systematized  the  emotional 
conversion  process  into  regular  stages  and  have  taught  the  nor- 
mality of  "  conviction ''  and  the  necessity  of  "  surrender." 
Starbuck's  respondents  had  a  great  deal  to  say  of  their  sense 
of  sin,  and  it  naturally  plays  a  large  part  in  his  description  of 
the  pre-conversion  experience.  While  he  emphasizes  the  fact 
that  voluntary  effort  if  used  before  the  conversion  is  often  help- 
ful, he  insists  in  quite  orthodox  fashion  that  in  the  majority  of 
cases  it  must  be  given  up  at  last  if  conversion  is  to  be  achieved ; 
one's  efforts  at  that  time  being  worse  than  useless.  James 
seems  to  go  farther  than  Starbuck.  While  he  recognizes  two 
types  of  conversion,  the  voluntary  and  the  involuntary,  he  re- 
gards the  former  as  relatively  unimportant  (apparently  because 
it  is  "less  interesting"),  and  also  relatively  rare.  In  the  fol- 
lowing passage  he  has  sought  to  condense  his  own  view  and 
Starbuek's  on  the  process  of  conversion : 

"  Of  theo^flli^ional  txfio^f  conversion  it  would  be  easy  to  ) 
give  examples,  but  they  are  as  a  rule  less  interesting  than  those 
^f-tljeself -surrender  type,  in  which  the  subconscious  effects  are 
more  afeffiTdanTaint^Trfteh  Sttlrtling.  I  will  therefore  hurry  to  ^ 
the  latter,  the  more  so  because  the  difference  between  the  two 
types  is  after  all  not  radical.  Even  in  the  most  voluntarily 
built-up  sort  of  regeneration  there  are  passages  of  partial  self- 
surrender  interposed ;  and  in  the  great  majority  of  all  cases, 
when  the  will  has  done  its  uttermost  towards  bringing  one  close 
to  the  complete  unification  aspired  after,  it  seems  that  the  very 
last  step  must  be  left  to  other  forces  and  performed  without  the 
help  of  its  activity.  In  other  words,  self-surrender  becomes 
then  indispensable.  ^  The  personal  will,'  says  Dr.  Starbuck, 
^  must  be  given  up.  In  many  cases  relief  persistently  refuses 
to  come  until  the  person  ceases  to  resist,  or  to  make  an  effort  in 

means  to  bear  which  will  intensify  the  normal  tendencies  that  work  in 
human  nature.  It  shortens  up  the  period  of  duration  of  storm  and  stress." 
(Op.  cit.,  p.  224.)  The  work  of  theology  in  producing  conviction  and  con- 
version is  thus  regarded  as  a  perfectly  normal  process  and  one  that  merely 
hastens  the  regular  processes  of  Nature  herself. 


152  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

the  direction  he  desires  to  go  '  ...  .  Dr.  Starbuck  gives  an 
interesting,  and  it  seems  to  me  a  true,  account  —  so  far  as  con- 
ceptions so  schematic  can  claifn  truth  at  all  —  of  the  reasons 
^  why  self-surrender  at  the  last  moment  should  he  so  indispensa- 
ble. To  begin  with,  there  are  two  things  in  the  mind  of  the 
candidate  for  conversion:  first,  the  present  incompleteness  or 
wrongness,  the  '  sin  '  which  he  is  eager  to  escape  from;  and,  sec- 
oiid»  the  posit ivo  idml  which  he  longs  to  compass.  I  Now  with 
most  of  us  the  sense  of  our  present  wrongness  is  a  far  more  dis- 
tinct piece  of  our  consciousness  than  is  the  imagination  of  any 
positive  ideal  we  can  aim  at.  In  a  majority  of  cases,  indeed, 
the  '  sin  '  almost  exclusively  engrosses  the  attention,  so  that  con- 
version is  "  a  j)roccfis  of  sfrugglinq  away  from  sin  rather  than  of 
striving  towards  righteousness.'*  A  man's  conscious  wit  and 
^^ill,  so  fafas  they  strain  towards  the  ideal,  are  aiming  at  some- 
thing only  dimly  and  inaccurately  imagined.  Yet  all  the  while 
the  forces  of  mere  organic  ripening  within  him  are  going  on 
towards  their  own  proficrured  results,  and  his  conscious  strain- 
ings are  letting  loose  subconscious  allies  behind  the  scenes,  which 
in  their  way  work  towards  rearrangement ;  and  the  rearrange- 
ment towards  which  all  these  deeper  forces  tend  is  pretty  surely 
definite,  and  definitely  different  from  what  he  consciously  con- 
ceives and  determines.  It  may  consequently  be  actually  inter- 
fered with  (jammed,  as  it  were,  like  the  lost  word  when  we  seek 
too  energetically  to  recall  it)  by  his  voluntary  efforts  slanting 
from  the  true  direction."  ^ 

Not  all  the  psychologists  who  have  written  on  conversion  have 
gone  so  far  as  James  and  Starbuck  in  justifying  the  conventions 
of  evangelical  theology;  but  as  none  of  them  have  drawn  any 
sharp  distinction  between  what  may  be  called  the  moral  and 
the  merely  emotional  types,  the  upholders  of  the  Bunyan-Brain- 
erd  process  have,  for  the  last  dozen  years,  (whether  justifiably  or 
not)  been  jubilantly  hailing  the  psychologs^  of  religion  as  their 
loyal  ally  in  support  of  the  necessity  of  conviction  and  helpless- 
ness.^    It  is  for  this  reason  that  I  have  treated  conversion  at 

8  "  The  Varieties  of  Religious  Experience,"  pp.  207-09. 

6  The  Rev.  R.  H.  K.  Gill,  Ph.D.,  combines  this  point  of  view  with  the 
popular  notion  about  the  "  subliminal "  in  the  following  remarkable  sen- 
tence, explanatory  of  conversion : 


THE  FACTOES  AT  WOKK  m  COl^VEESION      153 

what  must  seem  to  the  reader  such  tedious  length.     For  I  do 
not  in  the  least  share  the  view  indicated  above.     In  the  first 
place  I  believe  conversion  of  the  violent  type  is  by  no  means  so 
common  or  so  normal  an  experience  as  most  treatises  on  the 
psychology  of  conversion  would  lead  one  to  suppose.     It  is,  of 
course,  a  perfectly  genuine  phenomenon  but  its  occurrence  is  ^ 
confined  chiefly  to  certain  exceptional  individuals  whose  person-  ' 
alities  have  become  incipiently  "  divided  "  either  because  of  real 
moral  delinquencies,  or  unusually  high  ideals,  or  unfortunate 
surroundings,   or  because  of  some  native  nervous  instability.  \ 
In  the  great  majority  of  cases  detailed  by  religious  writers  or  ■ 
reported  from  questionnaires,  the  violence  of  the  experience  is 
in  part  induced  by  the  suggestions  of  a  conventional  theology 
and  in  part  is  purely  imaginary,  existing  in  expression  rather 
than  in  experience.     I  venture  to  estimate  that  at  least  nine  out 
of  every  ten  "  conversion  cases  "  reported  in  recent  question- 
naires would  have  had  no  violent  or  depressing  experience  to 
report  had  not  the  individuals  in  question  been  brought  up  in 
a  church  or  a  community  which  taught  them  to  look  for  it  if 
not  to  cultivate  it.     With  most  religious  people  conversion  (of^^ 
the  genuine  moral  sort)  is  a  gradual  and  almost  imperceptible' 
process,  with  an  occasional  intensification  of  emotion  now  and  i 
then    during    adolescence.     Many,    perhaps    most,    religious ) 
adolescents  have  a  number  of  these  emotional  experiences  which 
may  last  for  a  few  moments  only  or  for  days  and  weeks.     In 
churches  which  lay  no  special  emphasis  upon  conversion,  such 
as  the  Roman  Catholic,  the  Greek,  the  Unitarian,  and  the  Epis- 
copalian, as  in  most  non-Christian  religions,''^  no  great  notice 
is  taken  of  these  periods  of  excitement.     The  emphasis  in  the 
Catholic  Church  is  on  outer  acts  and  on  character  building, 
and  as  the  young  person  is  not  directed  to  watch  his  emotional 

"  The  anxiety  about  the  intended  moral  reform  and  the  continued  agony 
of  penitence,  filling  the  mind  for  a  period  of  time,  helps  the  consuetudinary 
evil-mindedness  to  be  lost  in  the  subliminal  self,"  ("The  Psychological 
Aspects  of  Christian  Experience,"  Boston,  Sherman,  French:   1905,  p.  41). 

V  Bhagavan  Das,  for  example,  in  treating  of  conversion  in  his  own  re- 
ligion (Hinduism)  makes  but  little  of  the  emotional  crisis.  For  the  Hindu 
the  one  great  thing  is  apprehension  of  the  truth. —  "  The  Psychology  of 
Conversion"  (Adyar,  T.  P.  H.:  1917). 


154  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

experiences  he  seldom  finds  any  of  striking  importance.  Some- 
times the  first  communion  rouses  an  emotional  excitement,  but 
both  the  Church  and  the  individual  regard  this  as  precious  in- 
deed hut  only  incidental,  and  as  merely  one  of  many  reli/^ious 
experiences.  In  those  denominations,  on  the  other  hand,  in 
which  the  subjective  is  emphasized  as  against  the  objective,  and 
whicli  teach  the  necessity  of  ^'  a  conversion  experience,"  some 
one  of  the  many  emotional  stirrings  of  adolescence  is  singled 
out  as  the  conversion,  and  the  others  are  ignored  and  largely 
forgotten.® 

One  word  more  concerning  "  conviction  of  sin "  and  sur- 
render of  eifort  —  two  factors  of  conversion  which  have  been 
so  enthusiastically  championed  by  both  evangelical  theology  and 
popular  psychology.  By  both,  I  say,  for  the  truth  is  that  the 
theologians  and  certain  writers  on  the  psychology  of  religion 
have  cooperated  unknowingly  to  form  a  vicious  circle  which  it 
is  difficult  to  avoid.  The  theologians  by  their  teachings  have 
induced  a  largely  artificial  form  of  experience;  and  the 
psychologists  coming  after,  have  studied  the  experience  thus 
induced  and  formulated  its  laws,  thus  making  Science  verify 
Theology.  There  is  little  really  good  evidence  for  the  asser- 
tion which  James  quotes  approvingly  from  Starbuck  that  con- 
version is  "  a  process  of  struggling  away  from  sin  rather  than 
of  striving  toward  righteousness."     In  case's^of  the  Bunyan- 

I  Brainerd  type,  to  be  sure,  the  James-Starbuck  view  holds:  in 
fact  it  was  reached  exactly  on  the  basis  of  the  Bunyan  and 

j  Brainerd  cases  and  those  influenced  by  them.     But  in  cases  of 

8  Starbuck's  assertion  that  though  conversion  is  often  induced  by  the- 
ology "  it  shortens  up  the  period  of  storm  and  stress,"  is  in  one  sense  borne 
out  by  his  figures,  and  corroborated  to  some  extent  by  the  fact  that  in 
Hinduism  (according  to  Bhagavan  Das)  the  age  of  emotional  crisis  if  it 
comes  at  all  is  later  than  in  Christianity.  But  this  by  no  means  estab- 
lishes the  normality  and  desirability  of  the  methods  by  which  conversion 
is  induced,  for  it  must  be  remembered  that  the  storm  and  stress  period 
which  conversion  shortens  is  itself  often  induced  by  the  same  conventional 
theological  ideas  which  bring  about  the  final  emotional  experience.  The 
unreasonableness  of  singling  out  one  emotional  crisis  as  the  supreme  and 
decisive  turning  point  of  life  and  insisting  that  this  represents  the  normal 
process  comes  out  plainly  when  one  considers  how  commonly  depression  and 
other  sjTnptoms  of  "  storm  and  stress "  return  after  "  conversion,"  even 
among  orthodox  cases.  See  Mrs.  Burr's  enumeration,  op.  cit.,  p.  318  f. 
The  choice  of  one  emotional  seizure  among  many  is  usually  almost  arbitrary. 


THE  FACTORS  AT  WOEK  11^  CONVEESIOJST      155 

really  significant  conversion  it  is  rare  indeed  that  the  attention  \ 
of  the  individual  is  riveted  on  his  own  sinful  nature  or  his  gaze  ( 
turned  chiefly  upon  the  past.     There  are  a  number  of  cases  of  j 
conversion  in  the  ]^ew  Testament  but  in  not  one  of  them  does   ' 
the  sense  of  sin  play  an  important  part.     No  better  record  of 
real  conversions  is  perhaps  anyrs^here  to  be  found  than  Harold 
Begbie's  "  Twice  Bom  Men,"  ^  and  in  not  a  single  case  there 
reported  is  there  anything  really  comparable  to  the  *^  conviction 
period  "  of  theology  —  and  psychology !     These  men  had  all 
been  great  sinners,  but  most  of  them  seemed  to  think  very  little 
about  their  sins  —  surprisingly  little  from  the  reader's  point 
of  view.     The  reader  invariably  has  a  much  deeper  sense  of 
their  sin  than  they  have  themselves.     And  in  the  few  cases 
where  they  are  conscious  of  guilt  it  is  always  some  particular 
crime  that  they  have  in  mind,  and  never  that  indefinite  sense 
of  having  done  they  know  not  what  which  so  troubled  poor  Bun-  \ 
yan  and  his  modern  imitators.     It  is  not  sin  that  troubles  them  \   y 
but  misery,  and  the  chief  thing  that  fills  their  consciousness  and 
brings  about  the  change  is  not  a  struggle  away  from  sin  but  a 
striving  toward  something  new.     They  want  to  be  respectable 

9  New  York,  Revell:  1909.  One  might  add  to  the  cases  cited  many 
of  the  most  famous  conversions  of  Christian  history  to  show  how  unim- 
portant a  role  the  "  conviction "  phenomenon  often  plays.  There  is  no 
trace  of  it,  for  example,  in  St.  Paul's  conversion.  Undoubtedly  much  was 
going  on  in  the  background  of  Paul's  mind  which  does  not  come  out  in 
the  account  and  which  is  hinted  at  by  his  subsequent  descriptions;  but 
this  seems  to  have  been  a  questioning  of  his  own  position  and  a  seeking  for 
new  light,  rather  than  anything  that  can  properly  be  described  as  "  con- 
viction of  sin  "  as  that  term  is  used  by  the  theologians  who  have  formu- 
lated the  evangelical  type  of  conversion.  George  Fox's  case  may  be  held 
up  as  one  in  which  conviction  led  to  real  conversion:  but  it  will  be  noted 
that  the  "  troubles  "  to  which  Fox  refers  in  his  Autobiography,  so  far  as 
they  were  more  than  physiological,  were  concerned  with  the  evil  condition 
of  the  world  quite  as  much  as  with  the  sins  and  dangers  of  his  own  soul. 
Moreover  his  rescue  came  about  not  through  the  intensification  of  the 
feeling  of  guilt  nor  by  the  resignation  of  effort,  but  chiefly  through  an 
"  opening  "  which  gave  him  a  new  insight  into  the  possibility  of  a  perfect 
moral  life  through  the  help  of  Christ.  (See  Professor  Jones's  edition  of 
his  "  Autobiography,"  Philadelphia,  Ferris  and  Leach:  1903,  Vol.  I,  esp.  pp. 
68-85.)  But  the  conviction  doctrine  relies  most  of  all,  after  Bunyan's 
case,  upon  St.  Augustine.  In  this,  however,  it  is  trusting  to  an  untrust- 
worthy support.  For  while  Augustine  felt  "  conviction  of  sin,"  it  was  not 
of  the  Bunyan-Brainerd  type,  but  the  recognition  of  a  perfectly  real  and 
definite  form  of  indulgence  which  for  a  long  time  he  could  not  bring 
himself  to  give  up.     See  the  Confessions,  esp.  Book  VIII,  Chapters  5-12. 


ir>6  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

and  decent.  Begbie  gives  it  as  bis  opinion  and  as  the  opinion 
of  the  most  cxpi^rionced  workers  of  the  Salvation  Army  that 
desire  for  good  is  absolutely  essential  to  conversion.^* 

A  study  of  Bcgbio's  cases,  moreover,  shows  no  less  conclu- 
sively that  the  surrender  of  effort  is  by  no  means  an  essential 
to  conversion.  It  is  plain  indeed  that  such  a  passive  attitude 
may  be  very  helpful  in  cases  of  the  Bunyan-Brainerd  type  where 
the  whole  question  is  one  of  achieving  a  certain  desirable  feel- 
ing state :  the  wished-for  calm  can  often  best  be  attained  by  giv- 
ing up  all  effort,  quite  on  the  analogy  of  the  process  of  falling 
asleep.  But  when  the  aim  to  be  achieved  is  the  giving  up  of 
old  evil  habits,  the  acquisition  of  new  insight,  the  revolution  of 
one's  ideals,  purposes,  values,  and  character,  then  effort  is  of 
the  utmost  importance.  There  must  indeed  be  surrender  — 
surrender  of  the  old  purposes  and  loves,  the  old  self;  surrender 
in  this  sense  is  the  very  essence  of  conversion.  But  while  effort 
alone  can  seldom  bring  this  about,  it  is,  (as  Starbuck  points 
out  ^^)  one  of  the  most  important  means  of  bringing  about  the 
new  insight  or  the  revolution  of  values  which  makes  surrender 
possible.  This  was  seen  in  the  cases  of  Ardigo  and  Tolstoi  and 
of  the  two  Indians,  and  it  comes  out  very  plainly  in  Begbie's 
men.  Here  there  is  no  suggestion  of  what  one  occasionally 
finds  so  emphasized  in  the  conventional  report :  "  I  had  to  stop 
trying  first."  The  important  thing  in  almost  every  case  was 
not  to  stop  trying  but  to  begin  trying.  I  emphasize  this  as  I  do 
because  the  notion  that  he  who  aspires  to  conversion  must  give 
J  up  trying  to  help  himself  seems  to  me  one  of  the  most  dangerous 
fallacies  that  theology  has  ever  slipped  into.  It  is  perhaps  the 
most  deplorable  aspect  of  that  whole  view  of  conversion  that  has 
tended  to  hold  up  the  artificially  induced  misery  of  the  Brainerd 

10  P.  185.  This  is  also  the  conclusion  of  the  workers  at  Briar  Bra« 
Lodge,  New  York.  It  is  a  long  cry  from  Briar  Brae  Lodge  to  the  Buddhism 
of  Japan,  yet  it  is  interesting  to  note  that  in  the  process  of  conversion  as 
laid  dowTi  in  the  Mahayana,  the  emphasis  is  all  upon  joy,  intellectual 
enlightenment  and  moral  progress,  with  practically  no  reference  to  the 
sense  of  sin.  The  moral  elements  stressed  are  all  positive,  and  consist  in 
self-training,  unselfishness,  and  lofty  aspiration. 

11  Starbuck,  though  insisting  that  at  the  final  crisis  effort  is  harmful, 
recognizes  fully  the  value  of  effort  before  the  crisis. 


THE  FACTORS  AT  WORK  IN  CONVERSION      157 

type,  and  even  the  pathological  morbidity  of  the  Bunyan  type, 
as  norms  for  the  imitation  of  earnest  Christians. 

It  is  of  course  true  that  effort  alone  is  not  sufficient ;  the  man  i 
must  want  to  be  saved  before  he  makes  the  effort.     The  attain-/ 
ment  of  moral  selfhood  means  the  acquisition  of  new  purpose^ 
and  new  tastes;  and  as  it  is  perfectly  plain  that  there  is  no 
forcing  of  tastes,  it  follows  that  no  amount  of  effort  alone  will 
bring  one  the  new  love  that  is  needed.     Chronologically  speak- 
ing, therefore,  effort  is  a  secondary  factor.     But  when  the  new 
tastes  and  purposes  are  acquired  much  still  remains  to  be  done. 
New  insight,  perhaps,  must  be  gained  or  old  habits  overcome, 
and  here  effort  is  of  great  importance.     In  some  cases  of  con- 
version the  renewed  and  persistent  effort  of  the  individual  who 
has  had  just  one  fascinating  glimpse  of  the  possible  new  life,  is 
the  really  dominant  factor  in  the  explanation  of  the  great  change 
that  comes  about  in  his  character.     A  case  of  this  sort  will  be 
found  in  a  note  at  the  foot  of  this  page.-'^^ 

Effort,  of  course,  is  not  the  only  helpful  factor  at  this  stage. 
Quite  as  often  the  explanation  of  the  moral  transformation 
brought  about  is  to  be  sought  for  in  physical  and  environmental 
changes  —  provided  always  that  the  desire  for  a  better  life  is 
really  present.  The  workers  in  Briar  Brae  Lodge,  New  York, 
report  transformation  of  lives  chiefly  by  these  means.     The  vic- 

12  The  following  account  was  given  me  by  the  Rev.  Ernest  B.  Hart,  a 
young  minister  and  former  student  of  mine  who  preached  at  the  meeting  at 
which  the  subject  was  converted : 

"  The  subject,  a  worthless,  good-for-nothing  drunkard,  about  forty-two 
years  old,  was  looked  upon  by  all  who  knew  him  as  about  the  poorest 
specimen  of  manhood.  He  '  happened '  into  a  meeting  one  Sunday  evening 
and  went  out  a  converted  man.  He  took  with  him  a  clear  vision  of  what 
might  be  in  his  life  if  he  let  God  enter  it.  But  (and  this  was  his  peculiar 
attitude)  he  realized  that  his  life  was  bad,  and  the  first  thing  for  him 
to  do  was  to  overcome  his  bad  habits  before  having  anything  to  do  with 
God.  He  therefore  swore  off  the  drink  habit,  and  after  a  long  struggle 
entirely  overcame  the  desire  for  drink.  (He  has  never  drunk  a  drpp  from 
the  time  he  left  the  church  that  night,  and  it  has  been  nearly  three 
years.)  He  did  this  entirely  by  his  own  efforts,  not  once  asking  God  to 
help  him.  It  was  up  to  him  to  overcome.  And  he  did  it.  He  tells  me 
that  after  he  had,  by  force  of  will,  conquered  the  bad  habits,  he  then 
allowed  God  to  enter  his  life.  But  he  felt  that  before  he  could  ask  God 
to  be  his  God,  he  must  rid  himself  of  his  bad  habits.  To-day  he  is  an 
upright,  exemplary  citizen,  looked  up  to  and  respected  by  people  in  general." 


158  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

tim  of  drink  who  has  been  permittinfc  his  family  to  starve  is 
taken  from  his  evil  surround iiigs,  sent  for  a  while  to  the  hos- 
pital, then  invited  to  the  Lodge  for  a  few  weeks  of  rest  where 
he  comes  to  feel  that  some  respectable  people  respect  and  care 
for  him  ;  and  then  after  a  month  or  two  in  the  country  he  is  sent 
back  to  work  at  a  new  job  and  reunited  with  his  family;  and 
after  the  process  he  is  often  a  new  creature. 

But,  as  has  been  said,  if  the  amelioration  of  physical  condi- 
tions is  to  be  useful,  and  if  effort  is  to  be  even  thinkable,  there 
must  be  on  the  part  of  the  individual  himself  a  genuine  desire 
for  a  new  life.  The  problem  is  therefore  to  make  the  new 
life  seem  to  the  sunken  man  or  woman  both  desirable  and  possi- 
ble. Sometimes  the  misery  that  results  from  poverty  and  crime 
is  enough  to  make  the  man  long  for  something  better.  And  if 
at  such  a  time  he  falls  in  with  kind  people,  like  the  Briar  Brae 
Workers,  the  new  life  may  seem  to  him  within  his  reach  and  he 
may,  consequently,  make  the  necessary  effort  toward  his  own 
reform.  In  such  cases  we  may  and  do  have  real  conversion 
without  the  assistance  of  anything  specifically  religious. ^^  With 
the  hardened  sinner  things  are  seldom  so  simple  and  some 
stronger  influence  must  be  appealed  to  if  the  man's  life  and 
character  are  really  to  be  turned  round.  Falling  in  love  at  a 
critical  moment  can  sometimes  do  this;  patriotism  may;  but 
as  a  fact  the  great  power  for  the  transformation  of  life  that 
dwarfs  all  others  combined  is  religion.  For  religion  deals  with 
the  deepest  questions  and  the  most  abiding  values,  and  it  holds 
out  to  the  desperate  man  who  has  lost  all  hope  in  himself  or  iu 
human  help,  the  promise  of  supernatural  and  unfailing  assist- 
ance. This  fact  comes  out  most  strikingly  in  Begbie's  cases. 
Especially  does  religion  make  real  to  these  men  the  possibility 
of  a  better  life.  Among  most  of  them  dissatisfaction  with 
their  old  life  had  already  been  roused  by  the  sufferings  of 
poverty  or  the  hard  hand  of  the  law,^^  but  they  had  no  hope 
in  anything  better  till  they  saw  with  their  own  eyes  what  re- 
ligion had  actually  done  for  some  of  their  number,  or  were  con- 

13  Cf,  also  the  case  of  Mr.  Fletcher  in  James's  "  Varieties."  Mr.  Fletcher 
got  rid  of  the  evil  habits  of  anper  and  worry  by  being  convinced  in  an 
argument  that  it  was  possible  to  do  so.      (P.  181.) 

1*  In  several  of  Begbie's  cases  it  seems  to  have  been  the  misery  of  im- 
prisonment that  gave  the  first  impetus  to  their  conversion. 


THE  FACTORS  AT  WORK  IN  CONVERSION      159 

vinced  in  some  way  that  God  —  and  certainly  God  alone  — 
could  save  them.  Thus  "  Jack  "  the  drunkard  is  induced,  on 
some  pretext,  to  go  to  the  Salvation  Army  meeting.  "  He  stood 
in  the  front  of  the  standing  pack  which  occupied  the  back  of 
the  hall,  listening.  He  sav^^  men  who  had  been  prize-fighters, 
criminals,  tramps,  and  petty  thieves  standing  clean  and  happy 
on  the  platform,  speaking  of  the  joy  that  had  come  to  them  with 
conversion,  and  explaining  that  conversion  meant  a  surrender 
of  man's  mutinous  will  to  the  will  of  a  God  all-anxious  to  care 
for  them.  Again  and  again  came  the  assurance :  ^  However 
bad  any  man  here  may  feel  himself  to  be,  however  hopeless  and 
ashamed  and  lost  he  may  feel,  he  has  only  to  come  out  publicly 
to  this  penitent  form,  kneel  down  and  ask  God  for  His  mercy, 
to  have  the  load  lifted  off  his  soul  and  to  feel  himself  strong 
in  the  strength  of  Almighty  God  to  overcome  all  his  tempta- 
tions.' ''  15 

The  "  Army  "  insists  on  a  public  declaration  of  one's  deter- 
mination to  lead  a  new  life ;  and  wisely.  Eor  this  act  helps  to 
r»1<aTip]^  the  '=^plf-siir render  which,  if  it  were  purely  subjective  and 
secret,  might  well  be  disregarded  at  the  next  temptation.  The 
public  avowal  both  brings  to  the  new  convert  the  encouragement 
and  moral  support  of  the  community,  and  also  holds  constantly 
before  his  mind  the  fear  of  its  censure  should  he  give  up  the 
struggle.  "  You  must  come  to  the  meeting  to-night,"  says  the 
old  convert  to  the  new,  "  and  you  must  go  to  the  penitent  form 
and  say  out  loud  that  you're  sorry,  that  you  want  new  life."  ^^ 

It  is  no  wonder  that  when  the  new  convert  has  taken  this  pub- 
lic stand  and  feels  himself,  society,  and  God  all  united  in  the 
struggle  for  the  better  life,  there  should  come  into  his  heart 
a  great  joy  and  peace.  It  is  in  part  the  peace  of  passing  out  of 
a  state  of  indecision  into  the  assured  stability  of  having  every- 
thing settled.  1^  To  have  one's  mind  "  made  up  "  after  long  un- 
certainty is  always  a  relief,  and  when  there  goes  with  it  the 
conviction  that  refuge  is  now  to  be  found  from  the  worst  mis- 

15  pp.  251-52. 

le  P.  204. 

17  Few  better  examples  of  this  are  to  be  found  than  among  the  exulting 
expressions  of  the  early  Buddhist  monks  —  many  of  whom  were,  in  a  sense, 
atheistic.  See  Mrs.  Rhys  David's  translation  of  the  ''  Psalms  of  the  Early 
Budflhists"   (London,  Frowde:   1913),  passim. 


160  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

erics  of  sin,  that  freedom  from  the  devil  of  drink,  and  super- 
natural help  in  keeping  on  the  straight  and  happy  path,  are 
now  assured,  great  joj  is  the  inevitable  result.  But  in  the  really 
religious  cases  there  is  often  still  more  reason  for  joy,  for  the 
convert  feels  the  presence  of  a  new  friend  who  loves  him  and  to 
whom  he  is  endlessly  grateful  and  whom  he  is  coming  to  love 
passionately.  In  many  cases  getting  converted  means  falling 
in  love  with  Jesus. 

Many  entire  cases  of  conversion,  therefore,  and  many  of  the 
details  of  all  conversions  are  to  be  explained  by  familiar  facts. 
There  are  some  aspects  of  conversion,  however,  not  so  easily  dis- 
posed of.  The  transformation  is  sometimes  so  sudden  as  to  be 
startling,^®  and  so  complete  as  to  suggest  some  physiological 
change  in  the  organism.  Begbie  cites  several  cases  in  which 
drunkards  of  years'  standing  become  free  from  the  drink  habit 
seemingly  at  one  stroke,  and  turn  from  lives  of  criminality  to 
eager  service  of  others.  Cases  of  this  sort  have  driven  both 
theology  and  psychology  to  search  for  explanations  somewhere 
outside  the  field  of  ordinary  mental  occurrences.  Theology  has, 
of  course,  had  recourse  to  the  supernatural,  and  psycholocjy  to 
the  subconscious.  And  there  is  no  doubt  that  if  the  subcon- 
scious be  given  a  sufficiently  wide  interpretation,  psychology  is 
justified  in  looking  to  it  for  the  explanation  of  these  striking 
phenomena.  Experiments  with  anaesthetic  subjects,^^  experi- 
ments in  post-hypnotic  suggestion  and  with  those  pathological 
cases  which  Freud,  Prince,  Sidis  and  others  have  m.ade  so 
familiar,  where  a  buried  complex  produces  various  psychical 
disturbances, —  experiments  of  these  and  other  types  show  much 
the  same  sort  of  sudden  rise  of  ideas,  convictions  and  emotions 
not  to  be  accounted  for  by  the  normal  consciousness  as  is  to  be 
found  in  the  conversion  of  St.  Paul  or  of  Alphonse  Ratis- 
bonne.^^  Writers  on  the  psychology  of  conversion  are  there- 
fore pretty  well  agreed  that  cases  of  this  sudden  sort  always  in- 
volve subconscious  influence.  ^^     The  most  generally  accepted 

18  James  gives  a  number  of  striking  examples  in  Lecture  X  of  the 
"  Varieties,"  and  Mrs,  Burr  adds  a  great  many  more  (op.  cit.,  Chap.  VII). 

19  See  almost  any  treatise  on  abnormal  psychology,  e.g.,  Binet's  "  Alter- 
ations of  Personality"   (New  York,  Appleton:  1903),  esp.  Chap.  VIII. 

20  See  pp.  223-226  of  the  "  Varieties." 

21  Cf.    for    example,    James's    "  Varieties,"    pp.    233-41 ;    and    Starbuck, 


THE  FACTOKS  AT  WOKK  I]^  CONVEKSION      161 

theory  is  that  ideas  and  emotions  coming  into  one's  mind  by 
ordinary  channels  and  soon  forgotten  sink  into  the  subcon- 
scious —  whether  we  regard  this  as  a  co-conscious  or  merely  as 
the  back-ground  and  marginal  region  of  the  mind,  or  even  as 
the  purely  physiological  and  unconscious  —  and  there  germin- 
ate, associating  with  themselves  increasing  emotional  complexes 
and  tendencies  to  action,  and  gradually  transform  one's  tastes 
and  values,  until  the  day  of  ripening  comes,  when  suddenly  the 
complex  rises  to  consciousness  and  dominates  it,  and  the  man 
finds  himself  a  new  creature,  and  loves  what  once  he  hated. ^^ 

But  though  psychologists  are  pretty  well  agreed  in  attributing 
cases  of  this  sort  to  the  action  of  the  subconscious,  they  are,  as 
we  have  seen,  far  from  united  on  the  question  how  this  "  sub- 
conscious action  "  should  be  interpreted.  A  large  number  (e.  g. 
Coe)  u^e  the  term  subconscious  here  to  mean  the  frankly  un- 
conscious mechanism  of  the  nervous  system.  Others  (e.  g. 
James)  seem  to  regard  the  subconscious  as  a  co-consciousness  — 
a  genuine  doubling  of  the  stream  of  thought  being  here  in- 
volved, either  as  a  normal  condition  or  as  an  incipiently  ab- 
normal disaggregation  of  consciousness  due  to  emotional  ex- 
citement. On  this  interpretation  one  may  picture  the  ideas 
and  emotions  of  the  primary  consciousness  acting  by  suggestion 
on  the  secondary  stream  and  there  germinating  and  growing  till 
at  last  they  force  themselves  into  the  primary  stream  once 
more.^^  Dr.  Morton  Prince  has  still  another  explanation  for 
striking  and  sudden  conversions,  which  calls  for  no  doubling  of 
consciousness  but  merely  for  a  lapse  of  memory  and  a  retention 
of  emotion.^* 

"  Psychology  of  Religion,"  Chap.  VIII.  Professor  Coe  has  shown  that  sud- 
den conversion  is  much  more  likely  to  take  place  in  subjects  with  an  active 
"  subliminal "  than  is  the  case  with  more  normal  persons.  See  "  The 
Spiritual  Life,"  Chap.  III. 

22  Many  of  our  most  important  decisions  are  made  for  us  in  this  way. 
A  friend  of  mine,  for  example,  tells  me  of  his  choice  of  a  profession  which 
came  about  quite  in  the  style  of  a  sudden  conversion.  For  two  years  he 
had  pondered  the  question  and  could  not  come  to  a  decision.  One  night 
after  going  to  bed  it  came  into  his  mind  "  like  a  shot "  that  he  was  going 
to  be  a  lawyer,  and  after  that  the  question  was  never  raised  again. 

23  Popular  writers,  carrying  suggestions  from  James  much  farther,  surely, 
then  he  would  have  approved,  have  made  much  of  this  view,  and  given 
it  a  new  theological  interpretation  by  connecting  the  subconscious  with 
the  Divine. 

24  His  famous  patient,  Miss  Beauchamp,  in  a  state  of  ill  health  and 


162  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

Cases  such  as  that  of  Miss  Boauchamp  and  M.  Ratisbonno 
are,  of  course,  rare;  honco  whether  or  not  we  are  ever  justified 
in  appealing  to  a  douMing  of  consciousness,  one  can  at  any 
rate  get  on  very  well  without  it  in  interpreting  most  cases.  As 
a  rule,  if  not  invariably,  an  interpretation  of  the  subconscious 
which  identifies  it  with  the  marginal  and  the  unconscious  is 
ample  for  purposes  of  explanation. 
v>-  But  the  suddenness  of  conversion  is  not  the  only  difficult  thing 
to  explain.  The  striking  victory  over  evil  habits  of  long  stand- 
ing which  sometimes  comes  about  through  conversion  is  per- 
haps quite  as  hard  to  understand, —  as  it  is  certainly  very  much 
more  important.  James's  suggestive  essay  on  the  "  Energies 
of  Men,"  ^'  and  Sidis's  experimental  investigations  with  neu- 
rotic patients  '*^  points  tow^ard  the  presence  in  each  of  us  of 

despair,  went  into  a  church  to  pray.  While  praying  all  was  suddenly 
changed,  without  her  knowing  why.  "  She  became  filled  with  a  great  emo- 
tion of  joyousness  and  well  being.  A  great  feeling  of  peace,  restfulnesB, 
and  happiness  came  over  her."  She  came  away  feeling  strong  and  believing 
herself  well,  and  above  all  convinced  that  she  had  had  a  Visitation,  and 
80  determined  to  enter  a  convent  and  become  a  nun.  By  hypnotizing  her 
Dr.  Prince  was  able  to  discover  what  had  really  happened,  which  was 
this:  "While  Miss  Beauchanip  was  communing  with  herself  (and  in  her 
depressed  state)  her  eyes  became  fixed  upon  one  of  the  shining  brass  lamps 
in  the  Church.  She  went  into  a  hypnotic  or  trance-like  state  of  which 
she  has  no  memory.  In  this  state  her  consciousness  was  made  up  of  a  great 
many  disconnected  memories,  each  memory  being  accompanied  by  emotion. 
There  were  memories  of  a  religious  character;  and  these  memories  were  ac- 
companied by  the  emotions  which  they  had  originally  evoked  (all  being  of  a 
peaceful  -and  joyous  character).  .  .  .  After  a  short  time  Miss  Beauchamp 
awoke  and  on  waking  all  the  memories  which  made  up  the  consciousness 
of  the  hypnotic  state  were  forgotten.  At  first  her  mind  was  a  blank  so 
far  as  logical  ideas  were  concerned.  She  thought  of  nothing  definite  and 
yet  she  was  filled  with  emotions.  They  were  the  same  emotions  which 
belonged  to  the  different  memories  of  the  hypnotic  state.  These  emotions 
persisted."  Soon  after,  they  began  to  call  up  congruent  ideas  of  a  re- 
ligious nature,  and,  knowing  nothing  of  the  time  gap  and  the  trance- 
state  or  of  the  memories  which  had  produced  her  new  emotions,  she 
naturally  regarded  the  great  contrast  between  her  former  depression  and 
her  present  joy  as  of  supernatural  origin,  and  felt  herself  converted  and 
cured.  (Op.  cit.,  pp.  344-50.)  This  explanation  of  Miss  Beauchamp's 
sudden  conversion,  it  will  be  noted,  might  apply  perfectly  well  to  many 
a  case  like  that  of  M.  Rati.'^honne.  And  if  this  interpretation  be  the  true 
one,  it  is  plain  that  we  shall  have  substituted  alternating  conscious  states 
for  co-consciousness  ones,  and  no  doubling  is  therefore  required. 

2^  Philosophical  Review,  XVI  (1007),  1-20.  Reprinted  in  his  posthumous 
"Memories  and  Studies"   (New  York,  Longmans:   1911). 

26  See  esp.  "  The  Psychotherapeutic  Value  of  the  Hypnoidal  State." 
Jour,  of  Abnormal  Psychology,  IV  (1909-10),  151-71. 


THE  FACTORS  AT  WORK  IN  CONVERSION      16a 

reservoirs  of  energy  not  ordinarily  used,  which  at  times  of  crisis 
or  by  means  of  psychological  devices  may  be  "  tapped  "  —  with 
results  that  are  to  say  the  least  very  striking.  The  letters  which 
Sidis  prints  from  former  patients  whom  he  has  cured  by  his 
"  hypnoidal "  process  read  very  much  like  the  testimonies  of 
converts  at  an  "  experience  meeting."  And  it  is  quite  com- 
prehensible that  the  new  confidence  and  peace  which  a  religious 
conversion  brings  might  act  upon  tired  nerves  in  much  the  same 
way  as  the  resting  and  recuperating  influence  of  the  hypnoidal 
state. 

But  the  most  important  thing  about  conversion  is  of  course 
the  change  of  character  that  so  often  results  —  the  change,  in 
fact,  which  invariably  results  in  every  genuine  conversion^ 
And,  this  too,  as  a  rule,  perhaps  always,  requires  reference  to 
the  subconscious  or  the  unconscious  for  full  explanation,  whether 
the  conversion  be  sudden  or  gradual.  But  the  subconscious  i 
process  which  brings  about  the  truly  new  birth  is  seldom  of  the  1 
sensational  sort  so  dear  to  popularizers  of  psyschology  and  cer- 
tain "  up-to-date  "  theologians.  It  does  not  consist  in  the  bur- 
rowing and  mining  of  subconscious  ideas  and  the  splitting  and  [ 
doubling  of  consciousness ;  it  is,  instead,  merely  the  undramatic 
change  of  values  which  the  most  normal  and  common-place 
of  us  notes  at  work  within  himself  in  almost  every  epoch  of  life, 
but  particularly  during  the  period  that  leads  from  childhood  to 
maturity.  When  you  were  a  child  your  favorite  music  was 
Dixie  played  by  a  brass  band ;  and  Beethoven  from  a  symphony 
orchestra  seemed  painfully  stupid.  Now  Dixie  and  the  band 
leave  you  indifferent,  but  to  hear  an  orchestra  rendering  the 
Fifth  Symphony  is  one  of  the  great  delights  that  life  has 
to  give.  When  and  how  did  the  change  come?  You  may  be 
able  to  tell  when  was  the  first  time  you  enjoyed  Beethoven;  it 
may  have  come  to  you  at  some  concert  as  a  revelation.  But 
more  likely  you  can  give  no  fixed  date,  and  certainly  you  can 
name  no  one  special  cause.  The  great  cause  was  the  whole  of 
your  musical  education  and  still  more  the  whole  of  your  mental 
development.  It  was  an  unconscious  process  certainly  —  if  you 
like,  a  "  subconscious  "  one ;  but  it  involved  nothing  mysterious 
and  Freudian.  There  was  no  idea  of  the  beauty  of  Beethoven 
that  lodged  in  your  subliminal,  dug  its  way  down,  germinated, 


IGl  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

caused  occasional  uneasiness  on  the  surface,  flowered  below 
ground,  and  suddenly  shot  up  into  the  primary  consciousness 
/in  an  explosion,  like  a  torpedo  from  a  submarine.  And  yet  the 
new  taste  for  Beethoven  was  certainly  the  product  of  subcon- 
scious forces. 

The  same  thing  is  true  of  religious  conversion.  It  follows 
the  same  laws  as  the  change  of  taste ;  because,  in  the  last  analysis 
it  is  itself  a  change  of  taste  —  the  most  momentous  one  that 
ever  occurs  in  human  experience.  It  is  an  "  Umwerthung  aller 
Werthe  " ;  and  all  the  processes  and  experiences  and  lessons 
of  life  are  involved  in  it. 


CHAPTEE  IX 

CBOWD   PSYCHOLOGY  AND  REVIVALS 

The  phenomena  known  as  religious  revivals  are  among  the 
most  interesting  facts  of  crowd  psychology.  The  complex  and 
varied  forms  which  they  take,  the  striking  and  at  times  momen- 
tous results  which  they  achieve,  as  well  as  the  skillful  methods 
employed  by  the  master  artists  who  occasionally  direct  their 
course,  naturally  attract  the  attention  of  the  psychologist  and 
whet  his  curiosity  as  to  the  psychological  principles  of  their 
explanation. 

This  explanation,  if  I  am  not  mistaken,  is  to  be  found  in 
the  laws  of  rhythm,  on  the  one  hand,  and  what  is  kno^vn  as 
crowd  psychology  on  the  other.  Rhythmic  action  is  one  of  the 
most  fundamental  characteristics  of  the  human  mind.  In  fact, 
as  Herbert  Spencer  has  pointed  out,  it  is  not  confined  to  the 
mental  sphere  but  dominates^-^l  life  and  much  even  of  the 
action  of  inorganic  nature.^  The  processes  of  the  human  body 
are  a  series  of  complex  and  interrelated  rhythms,  and  these 
affect  the  whole  background  of  consciousness  and  color  all 
our  thoughts  and  feelings.  They  range  all  the  way  from 
regular  and  rapid  processes  such  as  the  heart  beat  up  to  more 
or  less  irregular  recurrences  with  time  spans  of  weeks  or 
months.  Our  mental  life  not  only  is  deeply  affected  by  all 
of  these  physiological  processes,  but  carries  the  principle  of 
rhythm  (with  or  without  bodily  correlate)  still  farther,  imitat- 
ing constantly  the  swing  and  return  of  the  pendulum  as  long 
as  life  lasts.  Hunger  and  satiety,  sleep  and  waking,  exertion 
and  reposcj  excitement  and  relaxation,  enthusiasm  and  indiffer- 
ence, follow  each  other  with  almost  the  certainty,  if  without 
the  exact  regularity,  of  day  and  night  and  the  revolving  sea- 
sons. It  would  be  odd,  therefore,  if  so  fundamental  a  human 
characteristic  as  religion  should  fail  to  be  influenced  by  this 

iSee  chapter  X  of  Part  II  of  his  "First  Principles"    (4th  Ed.)    esp. 
sections  85,  86,  and  87. 

165 


1G6  THE  liELIGlOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

deep-seated  human  characteristic;  and  as  a  fact,  the  religious 
consciousness  is  as  rliythmic  in  its  action  as  any  other  aspect 
of  the  human  mind.  The  trutli  of  tliis  is  confirmed  by  the  ex- 
perience of  nearly  cvc^rv  religious  man  and  woman  whose  re- 
ligion is  something  more  than  the  performance  of  conventional 
acts  and  the  accej)tance  of  a  conventional  creed;  and  the  more 
intense  one's  religious  experience  the  more  is  its  rhythmic  na- 
ture likelv  to  be  felt.  The  mvstic  life  as  a  rule  oscillates  from 
times  of  inner  emotional  warmth  to  periods  of  outer  activity 
or  even  of  emotional  "  dryness."  And,  not  to  speak  of  the 
mystics,  all  those  who  have  known  what  it  means  to  be  "  on  the 
heights  ''  in  any  sense  or  to  any  extent,  know  also  that  one 
cannot  remain  there  long.     ^ 

The  historical  religions  have  been  quite  aware  of  these  psy- 
chological facts  and  have  often  acted  upon  them  in  seeking  to 
direct  the  religious  life.     One  of  the  books  that  make  up  that 
collection  of  rules  of  the  ancient  Chinese,  the  Li-ki,  going  back 
no  one  knows  how  far  into  antiquity,  prescribes  a  semi-annual 
retirement  for  religious  reflection,  and  inculcates  the  lesson  that 
the  rhythms  of  human  life  should  imitate  the  rhythms  of  the 
Universe  (the  "Tao").^     In  similar  fashion  the  Buddha  di- 
vided the  year  into  two  periods,  during  one  of  which  he  and  his 
disciples  w^ent  forth  on  missionary  journeys,  while  in  the  other 
they  retired  and  spent  the  months  in  meditation.     The  '^  Chris- 
tian Year,"  wath  its  great  emotional  seasons  and  sacred  days 
for  recollection  and  contemplation,  is  the  expression  given  by 
the  Christian  Church  to  the  rhythmic  needs  of  the  human  heart ; 
and  the  recurrent  holy  seasons  and  holy  days  of  Hinduism  ex- 
press the  same  universal  demand.     Perhaps  the  most  obvious 
illustration  of  this  pendulum-like  oscillation   of  the  religious 
consciousness  is  to  be  found  in  the  Christian  Sunday,  the  Jewish 
Sabbath,    and    the    Mohammedan    observance    of    Friday.     A 
further  testimony  to  this  human  need  for  religious  refreshment 
at  recurrent  intervals  for  society  as  well  as  for  the  individual, 
is  the  belief  so  fundamental  to  Buddhism,  Jainism,  and  Mo- 
hammedanism that   new   revelations   of  the  truth   have   been 
needed   and  have   come  historically   at  more  or   less   regular 

2  Book  V,  passim,  esp.  Part  II,  §  15,  translated  in  S.  B.  E.  Vol.  XXVII 
(Oxford  Univ.:   1885). 


CROWD  PSYCHOLOGY  AND  REVIVALS      167 

periods,  because  of  the  gradually  failing  faith  of  men.  It  is 
to  be  noted  that  these  revelations,  brought  by  successive  Bud- 
dhas,  Tirthankaras,  or  prophets,  are  not  regarded  as  revelations 
of  new  truth,  but  as  the  rejuvenation  of  men  in  their  living 
belief  in  the  old  truth  and  in  their  practice  of  it. 

But  the  religions  have  not  been  satisfied  with  making  a  place 
for  the  rhythmic  recurrence  of  religious  sentiment  in  the 
hearts  of  their  individual  followers.  Many  of  them  have  made 
use  of  the  forces  of  social  suggestion  to  reinforce  nature,  and 
hence  has  resulted  not  merely  the  religious  refreshment  of 
lonely  individuals,  but  group  movements  in  which  many  in- 
dividuals have  joined,  each  one  influencing  the  other  so  as  to 
make  the  religious  revival  much  more  intense  than  could  be  the 
case  if  the  individual  were  left  to  himself  and  to  the  ordinary 
rhythms  of  the  religious  consciousness.  Even  very  primitive 
peoples  furnish  excellent  examples  of  this.  In  his  admirable 
work  on  revivals  Davenport  has  given  a  detailed  description 
of  the  phenomenon  as  found  among  the  American  Indians.^ 
The  ancient  Greeks, —  who  were  surely  far  removed  in  culture 
from  the  primitive  natives  of  l^orth  America  —  showed  an 
equal  propensity  to  revivals  of  an  exceedingly  emotional  type. 
The  cult  of  the  Thracian  Dionysos  seems  to  have  been  intro- 
duced into  central  Greece  and  nourished  there  largely  through 
the  use  of  what  might  be  called  "  revival  meetings  " —  and  these 
of  a  very  emotional  and  exciting  sort.^     The  annual  celebration 

3  "Primitive  Traits  in  Religious  Revivals"  (New  York,  Macmillan: 
1906).     Chap.  IV. 

*  They  are  described  by  Rohde  as  follows :  "  Die  Feier  ging  auf  Berg- 
hohen  vor  sieh,  in  dunkler  Nacht,  beim  unsteten  Licht  der  Fackelbrande. 
Larmende  Musik  erscholl,  der  schmetternde  Schall  eherner  Becken,  der 
dumpf e  Donner  grosser  Handpauken  und  dazwischen  hinein  der  *  zum 
Wanhsinn  lockende  Einklang '  der  tieftonenden  Floten,  deren  Seele  erst 
phrygische  Auleten  erweckt  hatten.  Von  dieser  wilden  Musik  erregt,  tanzt 
mit  gellendem  Jauchzen  die  Schaar  der  Feiernden.  Wir  horen  nichts  von 
Gesiingen:  zu  solchen  liess  die  Gewalt  des  Tanzes  keinen  Athem.  Denn 
dies  war  nicht  der  gemessen  bewegte  Tanzschritt,  in  dem  etwa  Homers 
Griechen  im  Paean  sieh  vorwarts  schwingen.  Sondern  in  wiithenden,  wir- 
belden,  stiirzenden  Rundtanz  eilt  die  Schaar  der  Begeisterten  iiber  die 
Berghalden  dahin.  Meist  waren  es  Weiber,  die  bis  zur  Erschopfung,  in 
diesen  Wirbeltanzen  sieh  umschwangen;  seltsam  verkleidet:  sie  trugen 
*  Bassaren,'  lang  wallende  Gewilnder,  ^vie  es  scheint,  aus  Fuchspelzen 
genaht;  sonst  iiber  dem  Gewande  Rehfelle,  auch  wohl  Horner  auf  dem 
Haupte.     Wild  flattern  die  Haare,  Schlangen,  dem  Sabazios  heilig,  halten 


168  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

of  the  Elousinian  Mysteries  had  certain  features  of  a  decidedly 
revivalistic  nature,'  and  the  intensity  of  religious  feeling  thus 
deliberately  aroused  in  a  large  group  of  believers  brought  spir- 
itual refreshment  to  the  individual,  who  was  able  to  go  in  the 
strength  of  it  many  days.  The  modem  Vaishnavism  of  India, 
and  especially  of  Bengal,  has  repeatedly  been  characterized  by 
the  deliberate  arousing  of  group  emotion  through  revival  meth- 
ods. Chaitanya,  the  Vaishnava  reforme»tind  missionary  of  the 
IGth  Century,  was  a  master  in  the  art  of  producing  religious 
excitement,  through  the  use  of  exhortation,  song,  and  even 
dance,^  and  the  sect  founded  by  him,  which  is  to-day  perhaps 
the  most  popular  and  enthusiastic  religious  body  in  Bengal, 
still  makes  use  of  the  emotional  methods  of  revival  which  he  so 
skillfully  practiced."  Judaism,  like  so  many  other  vital  re- 
ligions, felt  the  need  of  occasional  periods  of  special  religious 
refreshment,  a  need  to  which  there  was  ever  found  some  John 
the  Baptist  ready  to  respond  with  his  exhortation,  '^  Repent,  for 
the  Kingdom  of  Heaven  is  at  hand."  It  is  hardly  necessary 
to  add  that  within  Christianity  even  so  non-evangelical  a  body 
as  the  Roman  Catholic  Church,  at  more  or  less  regular  intervals, 
carefully  conducts  deliberately  planned  revival  meetings, 
(kno\\Ti  as  '^retreats"),  in  which  both  the  rhythmic  demands 
of  human  nature  and  the  forces  of  social  psychology  are  laid 
under  contribution  to  stimulate  the  religious  life  of  the  com- 
munity and  of  its  individual  members. 

As  I  pointed  out  in  the  beginning  of  this  chapter,  the  psycho- 
logical explanation  of  these  violent  movements  of  social  religion 
is  to  be  sought  not  only  in  the  rhythmic  nature  of  the  human 

die  Hiinde,  sie  schwingen  Dolche,  oder  Thyrsosstiibe,  die  unter  dem  Epheu 
die  Lanzcnspitze  verbergen.  So  toben  sie  bis  zur  aussersten  Aufregung  aller 
Gefiihle,  und  im  '  hciligcn  Wahnsinn  '  stiirzen  sie  sich  auf  die  zum  Opfer 
erkorenen  Thiere,  packen  und  zerreissen  die  eingeholte  Beute,  und  reissen 
mit  den  Ziihnen  das  blutige  Fleisch  ab,  das  sie  roh  verschlingen." 
("Psyche,"  Tubingen,  Mohr:    1903;  Dritte  Auflage,  Vol.  II,  pp.  9-10.) 

5  Cf.  Prof.  Heidi's  article  referred  to  in  a  preceding  chapter,  "  Die  Bekeh- 
rung  in  klassischen  Altertum,"   (Zeitschrift  f.  Relspsy.  Ill),  esp.  pp.  384- 

89. 

6  See  Sarkar's  "  Chaitanya's  Pilgrimages"  taken  from  a  16th  Century 
biography,  the  Chaitanya-charit-amrita.  Translated  by  J.  Sarkar,  pp.  165, 
308-09. 

7  See  Macnicol's  "Indian  Theism"  (Oxford  University  Press:  1915), 
p.  132. 


CKOWD  PSYCHOLOGY  AND  EEVIVALS      169 

mind  but  also  in  the  general  principles  of  crowd  psycliology. 
It  is  necessary,  therefore,  at  this  point  to  say  a  few  words  upon 
the  latter  subject.     Since  the  appearance  of  Tarde's  ''  Laws  of 
Imitation  "  ^  it  has  been  customary  with  many  writers  to  treat 
of  the  psychology  of  the  crowd  as  if  it  were  essentially  different 
from  the  psychology  of  the  individual,  and  to  refer  to  imitation 
or  suggestibility  as  if  it  were  almost  created  by  the  presence  of 
the  mob.     If  we  examine  these  phenomena,  however,  we  shall 
see  that  they  are  plainly  characteristic  of  the  individual  out  of 
the  crowd  as  well  as  in  it,  and  that  they  are,  moreover,  by  no 
means  so  simple  as  much  mob  psychology  takes  them  to  be.     It 
will  hardly  do,  therefore,  merely  to  say  that  man  is  endowed 
with  an  instinct  of  imitation  or  suggestibility,  and  stop  with 
that.^     For,  as  a  fact,  we  can  go  further.     As  we  have  seen, 
there  is  no  specific  instinct  of  imitation :  both  imitation  and  sug- 
gestibility themselves  are  complex  phenomena  into  which  sev- 
eral factors  enter.     Perhaps  the  most  fundamental  of  these,  as 
was  pointed  out  in  a  previous  chapter,  is  the  tendency  of  every 
mental  content  which  holds  the  attention  to  get  control  of  the 
motor  centers  and  thus  to  work  itself  out  into  the  action  of  the 
voluntary  muscles  —  a  tendency  commonly  referred  to  as  dy- 
namogenesis  and  ideo-motor  action. ■'^^     Another  factor  in  sug- 

8  1892. 

9  As  Prof.  Bentley  has  well  said,  "Suggestion,  domination,  etc.,  are  — 
until  they  are  empirically  defined  —  sheer  abstractions  used  as  agents  or 
forces.  They  are  precisely  analogous  to  the  faculties  of  the  eighteenth 
century."  ( "  A  Preface  to  Social  Psychology."  Psychological  Mono- 
graphs of  the  Psy.  Rev.,  June,  1916,  p.  11.) 

10  Is  is  only  fair  here  to  point  out  that  the  very  existence  of  such  a 
thing  as  ideo-motor  action  has  recently  been  denied  by  competent  psycholo- 
gists—  notably  by  Professor  Thorndike  in  his  presidential  address  before 
the  American  Psychological  Association  in  1913,  ("Ideo-Motor  Action," 
published  in  the' Psy.  Rev.  for  March,  191.3,  pp.  91-106).  This  is,  of 
course,  not  the  place  for  a  detailed  discussion  of  the  subject,  but  I  may 
at  least  say  that  Professor  Thorndike's  presentation  of  his  side  of  the  case 
has  left  me  quite  unconvinced.  If  we  maintain  ideo-motor  action  in 
reference  to  the  voluntary  muscles  only  and  if  we  refrain  from  insisting 
that  the  idea  which  prompts  the  movement  must  be  like  the  movement, 
Professor  Thorndike's  criticism  of  the  doctrine  will  be  robbed  of  most  of 
its  weapons.  Certainly  the  weight  of  authority  is  still  greatly  upon  the 
side  of  the  doctrine  as  propounded  by  James.  (See  the  "Principles  of 
Psychology,"  Vol.  II,  pp.  522-28.)  I  am  not  sure,  moreover,  that  the 
difference  between  Professor  Thorndike  and  the  majority  of  psychologists 
on  this  subject  is  so  great  as  he  thinks  it;  for  by  admitting  what  others 


170  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

gestibility  is  the  tendency  of  the  mind  to  accept  as  true  every  un- 
contradicted idea  which  stands  before  it  —  in  other  words,  the 
phenomenon  of  "  primitive  crednlity."  *^  So  far  as  I  can  see, 
these  rehUed  modes  of  mental  action  are  hardly  further  analyza- 
hle,  and  depend  directly  upon  the  structure  of  the  nervous  sys- 
tem and  the  very  nature  of  the  human  mind.  But  they  do  not 
fully  account  for  what  crowd  psychology  calls  imitation  or  sug- 
gestion. For  not  all  the  ideas  or  actions  suggested  to  the  mind 
get  an  equally  powerful  hold  over  the  attention.  To  understand 
fully  the  force  of  suggestion  and  imitation  we  must  refer  to 
the  additional  fact  that  man  is  bv  nature  and  instinct  a  social 
being.  He  is  so  made  that  suggestions  coming  to  him  from  his 
fellows  possess  a  peculiar  power  over  his  attention  and  hence 
master  his  beliefs  and  his  actions  as  no  others  can.  Based  as  it 
is  on  forces  so  fundamental  as  those  we  have  been  considering, 
the  power  of  social  suggestion  is  very  great  over  all  minds.  In 
more  developed  and  complex  natures,  however,  it  seldom  seems 
dominant,  because  in  a  sense  it  defeats  itself.  Within  an  edu- 
cated mind  no  one  idea  or  motor  impulse  is  long  without  rivals 
for  the  control  of  attention.  The  rival  ideas  thus  tend  to  in- 
hibit each  other,  and  either  to  prevent  action  altogether,  or  to 
give  time  for  cool  consideration  of  all  relevant  issues  before 
action  is  taken  or  adherence  to  belief  finally  given.  In  more 
primitive  minds  this  inhibitive  power  is  largely  lacking,  and 
any  idea  that  comes  from  a  source  possessing  prestige  or  power 
over  the  attention  is  likely  to  master  the  entire  mind  and  control 
the  muscles  of  the  body.-^^ 

call  ideo-motor  action  in  cases  where  instinct  or  habit  are  involved  he 
has  left  room  for  something  very  like  conciliation.  At  any  rate,  the  kind 
of  ideo-motor  action  which  he  has  left  standing  by  this  admission  is  prob- 
ably quite  as  much  as  is  needed  for  the  purposes  of  our  chapter. 

11  For  a  discussion  of  this  see  Chapter  X  of  this  book. 

12  Animals  are,  of  course,  particularly  good  examples  of  the  power  of  a 
certain  limited  kind  of  suggestibility,  obeying  as  they  do  quite  automati- 
cally and  obviously  any  suggestion  in  line  with  their  instinctive  interests. 
The  hypnotized  person  is  a  better  example  of  social  suggestion.  Certain 
very  primitive  and  ill-organized  individuals,  especially  among  the  lower 
races,  are  almost  equally  suggestible.  An  excellent  example  of  this  as 
found  among  the  Malays  is  given  by  Sir  F.  A.  Swettenhara  in  his  "  Malay 
Sketches"  (New  York,  Lane:  1899),  in  which  (among  other  striking  cases) 
he  describes  the  hypnotic  effect  produced  upon  some  of  the  natives  by  the 
sight  of  stones  being  thrown  into  the  water.     So  great  was  the  force  of 


CEOWD  PSYCHOLOGY  AND  KEVIVALS      171 

It  hardly  needs  saying,  therefore,  (although,  considering  the 
past  history  of  the  "  suggestion  "  doctrine,  it  perhaps  had  better 
be  said)  that  human  nature  in  a  crowd  is  the  same  as  human 
nature  everywhere  else,  and  that  there  are  not  really  two  psy- 
chologies, the  individual  and  the  social.  The  acts  which  men 
perform  when  in  association  with  others  grow  out  of  the  funda- 
mental forces  that  control  their  action  when  alone. ^^  What  the 
presence  of  the  crowd  does  is  to  emphasize  certain  factors  al- 
ready present,  which  it  is  able  to  do  because  of  man's  peculiar 
sensitiveness  to  social  stimuli.  It  does  not  create  suggestibility, 
but  it  does  increase  it.  This  it  does  in  two  ways:  (1)  by 
weakening  or  banishing  all  inhibitory  tendencies,  and  also  (2) 
by  increasing  the  dominance  over  attention  possessed  by  the 
central  idea  or  impulse.  These  are,  of  course,  but  two  aspects 
of  the  same  thing,  but  for  -the  purposes  of  exposition  it  may  be 
well  to  consider  them  separately. 

There  are  many  ways  in  which  the  presence  of  a  crowd  tends 
to  break  down  the  inhibitions  both  of  action  and  of  belief  which 
ordinarily  influence  the  minds  of  its  members.  One  of  the 
less  important  of  these  ways  is  to  be  found  in  the  limitations  of 
the  individual's  voluntary  movements  produced  by  the  close 
proximity  of  many  others.-^*  As  the  control  of  one's  muscles 
and  the  consciousness  of  moving  them  as  one  wills  is  an  im- 
portant factor  in  the  sense  of  personality  and  of  freedom,  the 
loss  of  this  power  in  a  closely  packed  throng  diminishes  the 
sense  of  independence,  produces  a  feeling  of  helplessness,  and 
thus  diminishes  to  some  extent  the  force  of  those  inhibitions 
which  in  freer  physical  conditions  might  oppose  the  suggestions 

this  suggestion  upon  their  very  primitive  minds  that  one  man  after  another 
felt  compelled  to  dive  into  the  water,  until  finally  they  begged  that  no 
more  stones  should  be  throAATi. 

13  Professor  Dewey  has  well  pointed  out  the  absurdity  of  the  older  view 
of  suggestion  and  consciousness,  which  made  individual  and  social  psychol- 
ogy almost  antithetic.  "  As  a  concrete  illustration  of  the  absurd  results  to 
which  this  antithesis  led,  it  is  perhaps  sufficient  to  refer  to  those  bizarre 
writings  on  the  psychology  of  the  crowd  in  which  it  was  assumed  that 
the  psychology  of  the  individual  left  to  himself  is  reflective  and  rational, 
while  man's  emotional  obsessions  and  irrationalities  are  to  be  accounted 
for  by  the  psvchology  of  association  with  others."  ("Tlie  Need  for  Social 
Psychology,"  Psy.  Rev.  XXIV,  July,  1917,  208.) 

1*  A  fact  pointed  out  by  Sidis,  in  "  The  Psychology  of  Suggestion " 
(New  York,  Appleton:  1909),  p.  299. 


172  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

of  the  crowd.  Much  more  important  than  this  loss  of  volun- 
tary movement  is  the  increased  sense  of  power  which  one  gets 
by  being  a  member  of  a  great  throng.  The  consciousness  of 
the  force  of  united  action  makes  obstacles  seem  slight  which  to 
the  individual  alone  would  seem  insuperable.  In  the  bright 
/^  lexicon  of  the  crowd  there  is  no  such  word  as  fail.  The  sense 
of  responsibility,  moreover,  is  correspondingly  weakened.  The 
individual  is  hidden  by  the  mob  and  therefore  safe;  no  one 
can  find  and  punish  him.  Only  the  crowd  is  responsible  and 
the  crowd  is  big  and  strong  and  need  not  fear.  Hence  the  or- 
dinary inhibitions  of  prudence  and  propriety  are  thrown  off, 
and  the  individual  may  act  as  a  primitive  being  who  has  not 
reached  the  stage  of  reflection. 

But  the  crowd  may  intensify  an  idea  or  impulse  in  the  mind 
of  one  of  its  members  not  only  indirectly  but  directly.  This 
it  does  by  the  large  number  of  sources  of  suggestion  which  it 
brings  to  bear  upon  him.  The  normal  individual  may  easily 
withstand  suggestions  from  one  or  two  sources  if  they  be  not 
too  strong.  But  when  these  suggestions  are  multiplied  by  fifty, 
by  one  hundred,  by  ten  thousand,  many  a  man  succumbs.  This, 
as  has  often  been  pointed  out,  is  one  of  the  secrets  of  advertis- 
ing. I  can  with  equanimity  and  self-control  read  the  sign  "  Use 
Sapolio.  It  Floats,"  and  thereafter  go  my  way  undisturbed. 
I  can  see  it  displayed  in  shop  windows  and  resist  it.  But  when 
*I  find  it  impossible  to  enter  a  trolley  car  without  being  told 
that  in  Spotless  Town  nothing  else  is  used,  when  I  cannot 
open  a  magazine  without  being  informed  that  hand  sapolio  is 
the  only  thing  that  will  make  me  respectable,  when  I  cannot 
walk  the  streets  nor  stroll  into  the  country  without  being  re- 
minded by  placards  in  large  letters  that  I  am  really  no  gentle- 
man because  I  have  as  yet  failed  to  provide  myself  with  that 
sine  qua  non  of  decency,  my  conscience  finally  speaks  out,  and 
I  yield.  In  the  words  of  Mr.  Dooley,  "  I  belave  anything  at 
all  if  ye  only  tell  it  to  me  aften  enough."  This  principle  of 
the  force  of  repetition  is  of  course  seen  to  an  immeasurable 
extent  in  the  suggestions  which  the  members  of  a  crowd  make 
to  each  other.  A  belief  or  impulse  or  emotion  is  propagated 
in  a  crowd  by  geometrical  progression.  Each  member  is  influ- 
enced by  each  and  influences  each  in  turn,  and  so  the  contagion 


CKOWD  PSYCHOLOGY  AJ^D  REVIVALS      173 

sweeps  through  the  throng,  the  emotional  impulse  to  action  or 
to  belief  often  becoming  very  nearly  irresistible.-^^ 

The  members  of  a  crowd,  therefore,  tend  to  be  more  sug- 
gestible, more  primitive  in  their  reactions  than  they  would  be 
by  themselves.  The  higher  and  more  complex  faculties  are 
temporarily  weakened  by  the  influence  of  large  numbers  of  like- 
minded  fellows,  and  the  more  fundamental  and  simple  reactions, 
no  longer  inhibited,  have  things  their  own  way.  As  Le  Bon  has 
pointed  out,  men  differ  from  each  other  most  in  intellect,  mor- 
ality, ideas,  and  least  in  animal  impulses  and  emotions ;  hence 
the  greater  the  power  of  the  crowd  the  more  do  its  members  come 
to  resemble  each  other,  the  things  in  which  they  differ  being  laid 
aside.  Emotion  and  imagination  become  very  prominent,  while 
the  critical  judgment  becomes  weak.  Hence  the  occurrence  of 
collective  hallucinations  and  the  extreme  impulsiveness  and 
credulity  of  crow^ds,  their  lack  of  higher  rational,  moral,  and 
prudential  control,  their  cowardice  and  their  courage,  their 
cruelty,  heroism,  and  self-devotion.^^ 

The  characteristics  of  crowds  (in  the  psychological  sense) 
which  we  have  been  discussing  are  all  manifest  in  the  religious 
crowd  which  one  finds  in  every  intense  revival.  The  production 
of  these  characteristics  is,  in  fact,  the  first  condition  of  a  suc- 
cessful revival,  as  is  well  known  by  every  efficient  evangelist. 
You  cannot  get  up  a  revival  in  cold  blood.  It  is  not  a  thing 
to  be  done  as  you  saw  wood  or  write  a  sermon.  You  may  col- 
lect a  great  throng  of  people  —  as  you  do  in  fact  Sunday  after 
Sunday  —  and  still  not  have  a  "  psychological  crowd.''  The  pe- 
culiar conditions  of  like  mindedness,  of  great  suggestibility, 
of  emotional  excitement,  and  of  absence  of  inhibition  which 
characterize  a  psychological  crowd  are  not  to  be  brought  about 
merely  by  getting  people  together.^'''     So  long  as  your  congre- 

15  Emotional  and  impulsive  contagion  of  this  sort  is  not  confined  to 
human  crowds.  Tennent  gives  an  example  of  it  in  a  herd  of  elephants 
("Ceylon,"  London,  Longmans:  1860;  Part  VIII,  Chap.  IV).  A  case  of 
the  same  phenomenon  among  horses  is  cited  bj'  Sidis,  op.  cit.,  p.  314. 

16  Cf.  Le  Bon,  "The  Crowd"   (London,  Unwin:   1903),  passim. 

17  It  must  be  remembered,  however,  that  the  people  who  assemble  to 
hear  a  revivalist  are,  as  a  rule,  partly  prepared  in  advance  to  be  good 
"  crowd  "  material,  being  chosen  out  from  the  community  by  a  process  of 
natural  selection.  Their  very  presence,  moreover,  in  the  church  or  audi- 
torium or   "  tabernacle,"   with   its  many   suggestions   and   influences   does 


174        THE  rp:ligious  consciousness 

gation  is  just  a  collection  of  individuals  who  retain  all  their 
inhibitions  you  may  preach  to  them  and  reason  with  them 
and  perhaps  convince  them  of  various  facts,  but  you  cannot 
have  a  revival.  In  the  phrase  of  evangelical  theology,  the  heart 
is  not  awakened  and  there  is  no  overmastering  sense  of  sin  and 
no  "  conversions  " ;  in  psychological  terms  there  is  no  increased 
suggestibility  and  loss  of  inhibition.  Practical  religious  work- 
ers and  "  revivalists  "  know  just  as  well  as  do  the  psycholo- 
gists what  is  lacking  and  what  must  be  done  to  bring  about 
the  desired  result.  The  first  condition  is  that  a  state  of  mental 
strain,  expectancy,  and  subdued  excitement  should  be  induced 
throughout  the  community.  This  may  come  about  naturally 
and  without  anyone's  intending  it,  or  it  may  be  deliberately 
brought  about  through  the  initiative  of  individuals.  It  is  the 
sine  qua  non  of  a  successful  revival.  The  community  and  the 
religious  gatherings  of  the  community  must  be  transformed 
from  mere  collections  of  individuals  into  psychological  crowds ; 
the  condition  of  like-mindedness  must  be  induced.  This  is  to 
be  done  in  various  ways.  The  thought  of  the  community  may 
be  focussed  on  the  one  topic  of  the  coming  revival,  and  the 
mysterious  and  supernatural  power  which  is  expected  to  mani- 
fest itself  therein.  Thus  a  state  of  subdued  excitement  and 
intense  expectation  is  induced  which  tends  to  inhibit  critical 
reason,  worldly  ideas,  and  selfish  purposes,  and  to  prepare  the 
mind  for  the  unquestioning  acceptance  of  wonderful  things  and 
for  the  complete  surrender  of  purely  individual  aims.^^ 

A  beautiful  illustration  of  this  process  is  to  be  found  in  the 
very  fragmentary  account  preserved  in  the  book  of  Acts  of  the 
first  Christian  revival  - —  the  day  of  Pentecost.  The  little 
Christian  community  believed  that  Jesus  had  appeared  to  cer- 
tain of  their  number  and  had  bidden  them  assemble  in  Jerusa- 

much  toward  changing  the  audience  from  a  mere  physical  aggregate  into 
a  crowd.  An  excellent  discussion  of  the  influences  here  involved  will  be 
found  in  C.  H.  Woolbert's  paper  on  "The  Audience"  (Pay.  Monographs  of 
the  Psy.  Rev.  XXI,  No.  4  June,  1916,  pp.  37-54).  See  also  Helen  Clark's 
"  The  Crowd  "  in  the  same  number. 

18  I  do  not  wish  to  imply  by  the  foregoing  that  preparation  of  the  sort 
described  is  in  any  way  improper.  It  is  often  the  easiest  means  to  a 
very  desirable  end.  As  Stanton  Coit  has  pointed  out,  a  religious  move- 
ment need  be  none  the  less  spiritual  because  organized.  See  his  "  National 
Idealism  and  a  State  Church,"  pp.  17-18. 


CROWD  PSYCHOLOGY  AND  EEVIVALS       175 

lem  and  wait  together  until  some  mysterious  token  of  His  pres- 
ence and  power  should  come.  Just  what  this  should  be  they 
probably  did  not  picture  —  it  was  quite  vague ;  but  the  feeling 
was  strong  that  some  strange,  supernatural  event  was  to  occur. 
As  the  days  went  by  in  mutual  influence,  the  feeling  increased 
by  geometrical  progression.  Each  one  made  the  suggestion  to 
his  neighbor  and  received  it  back  two-fold.  They  held  constant 
meetings  in  which  they  talked  the  matter  over  with  each  other, 
prayed  over  it,  and  thus  induced  a  state  of  like-mindedness  and 
mutual  suggestibility  which  transformed  them  (in  all  rever- 
ence be  it  said)  from  a  collection  of  individuals  into  a  genuine 
"  psychological  crowd."  '^  And  when  the  day  of  Pentecost  was 
fully  come  they  were  all  with  one  accord  in  one  place."  I^otice 
the  distinct  assertion  of  like-mindedness.  And  then  came  the 
expected.  The  clouds  somehow  burst,  the  old  inhibitions 
which  may  have  bound  them  to  their  old  lives  were  gone,  every- 
thing was  surrendered  to  the  will  of  God,  and  a  tide  of  emotion 
and  devoted  loyalty  swept  over  them  which  they  had  never 
known  before,  the  results  of  which  will  end  only  with  human 
history. 

The  same  sort  of  expectancy  and  suppressed  excitement  is 
the  herald  of  most  great  revivals.  This  was  notably  the  case 
with  the  revival  of  1857  which  grew  out  of  the  mental  strain 
resulting  from  the  financial  crisis,  a  psychological  condition 
utilized  by  the  six  persons  who  instituted  the  daily  Pulton  St. 
prayer-meeting.^^  The  revivals  of  Edwards  and  Whitefield, 
and  in  more  recent  times  of  Moody  and  the  great  Welsh  revival 
illustrate  the  same  preparatory  process.  The  early  meetings  in 
Billy  Sunday's  revivals,  with  their  elaborate  advertising  and 
their  sensational  attractions,  are  deliberate  attempts  to  prepare 
the  community  and  the  audience  for  eiforts  to  be  made  later 
on  to  induce  men  and  women  to  "  hit  the  trail."  The  small 
group  meetings  held  by  local  leaders  before  the  arrival  of  the 
revivalist  aim  also  at  the  same  psychological  result.  The  au- 
dience with  which  he  is  to  deal  must  be  transformed  into  a 
psychological  crowd  before  he  can  really  play  upon  it.^^ 

19  See  Prime,  "The  Power  of  Prayer"   (New  York,  Scribner:   1859),  esp. 
Chap.  II. 

20  In  a  little  book  called  "  Pentecost :    or  the  Revival  of  the  Work  of 


17G  TllK  RKLIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

The  methods  used  in  the  revival  meeting  itself  are  well 
kiio\^Ti.  Publie  prayer  unless  made  by  one  who  has  the  art  of 
arousinc:  emotion  to  an  unusual  depjee  is  not  very  useful  and 
mav  wearv  the  audience;  but  the  sinijinff  of  hvmns  carefully 
chosen  and  in  which  all  unite  is  exceed! niz;ly  efficacious,  and  its 
vahie  is  not  overlooked  by  those  who  know  the  t6chni(iue  of 
revivals.^*  The  hymn  lias  two  great  advantages.  In  the  first 
place  all  can  take  part  in  it ;  the  emotions  which  have  been  swell- 
ing up  in  the  hearts  of  the  individuals  can  thus  be  given  vent. 
The  man  can  sing  as  loud  as  he  likes  and  thus  express  himself. 
Thus  it  comes  that  the  hymn  is  especially  valuable  for  both 
suggestion  and  auto-suggestion.  By  singing  out  at  the  top 
of  his  voice  the  sentiments  and  ideas  which  the  revivalist  de- 
sires to  instill  into  him,  each  member  of  the  audience  suggests 
them  to  himself,  in  the  technical  meaning  of  that  phrase.  And 
he  also  at  the  same  time  passes  on  the  suggestion  to  his  neigh- 
bor. The  whole  audience  thus  acts  upon  each  individual  in 
the  audience  and  so  acts  and  reacts  upon  itself,  thus  spreading 
the  desired  suggestion  by  geometrical  progression.     Each  in- 

God,"  written  in  1860  (Morgan  and  Chase:  London)  by  the  Rev.  George 
Wilkinson,  the  reader  will  liiid  a  very  clear-sighted  presentation  of  the 
methods  calculated  to  bring  about  the  psychological  condition  requisite 
to  a  successful  revival.  The  author  of  course  writes  purely  as  a  the- 
ologian and  practical  religious  worker,  but  shows  much  insight  into  the 
psychological  principles  concerned.  See  also  Fryer's  "Psychological  As- 
pects of  the  Welsh  Revival"    (P.  S.  P.  R.  XIX,  8G-87). 

21  Thus  Wilkinson  says:  "As  nothing  relating  to  the  proper  conduct 
of  the  worship  of  God  should  be  deemed  unimportant  or  unworthy  of 
regard,  so  attention  should  be  given  to  the  singing.  Souls  have  been  con- 
verted by  means  of  the  hymns;  care  therefore  should  be  taken  to  select 
those  which  are  suitable.  Regard  should  also  be  had  to  the  manner  in 
which  they  are  given  out.  They  should  be  read  with  intelligence  and 
feeling,  that  they  may  not  be  meaningless  and  unimpressive.  The  tunes, 
likewise,  should  be  adapted  to  the  words,  and  such  as  all  can  sing  with 
ease."  Op.  cit.,  p.  68.  The  singing  of  hymns  by  the  congregation  was  one 
of  the  most  striking  features  of  the  late  revival  in  Wales,  and  one  of  the 
chief  instruments  in  rousing  the  desired  religious  enthusiasm.  M.  de 
Fursac  who  went  over  from  France  to  watch  the  revival  from  the  purely 
psychological  point  of  view  writes  of  the  singing  as  follows: 

'"  On  a  I'impression  de  quelque  chose  qui  vous  prend  tout  entier,  vous 
^treint  et  vous  pen^tre:  on  eprouve  le  sentiment  religieux  par  excellence, 
le  sentiment  d'une  reality  FUperieure  depassant  les  roalites  sensibles:  11 
semble  que  la  conscience  affranchie  de  I'espace  et  du  temps  prenne  contact 
avec  I'absolu."  ("Un  Mouvement  Mystique  Contemporain,"  Paris,  Alcan; 
1907,  p.  55. 


CROWD  PSYCHOLOGY  AISTD  REVIVALS      177 

dividual  also  feels  the  strength  and  power  of  the  whole  back  of 
him,  reinforcing  his  good  resolves  and  his  religious  faith,  and 
inhibiting  all  that  opposes  them.  /And  secondly,  the  fact  that 
the  hymn  involves  music  makes  it  a  peculiarly  fit  tool  for  pro- 
ducing and  communicating  emotion.  Music  is  essentially  emo- 
tional and  may  often  bring  one  into  a  mood  which  no  amount 
of  preaching  could  induce.  Emotion  is  especially  desirable  at 
revival  meetings,  for  it  is  one  of  the  best  tools  for  breaking 
do^^^i  inhibitions,  and  filling  the  mind  with  some  idea  or  impulse 
congruous  to  the  emotion.  The  music  of  the  h^nims  found  in 
a  revival  hymn  book,  or  chosen  by  the  revivalist,  is  of  an  espe- 
cially emotional  nature.  It  is  far  from  intellectual.  It  must 
not  be  melancholy  though  it  may  be  sad,  and  it  must  not  be  gay 
though  it  may  be  joyful.  Above  all  it  must  not  be  difficult  and 
it  must  be  catchv.^^  It  must  be  of  the  kind  that  runs  on  in 
the  head  and  sings  itself.  And  it  must  be  very  decided  in  its 
emotional  coloring,  so  that  the  mere  music  itself  may  alone 
arouse  the  particular  emotions  of  awe,  repentance,  hope,  etc.,  that 
the  revivalist  seeks  to  bring  about.  This  heightening  of  emotion 
may  often  be  a  most  worthy  aim,  and  I  speak  of  it  not  at  all 
to  bring  reproach  upon  the  singing  of  hymns.  The  impulse 
which  the  revivalist  is  usually  seeking  to  induce  is  complete 
devotion  to  the  will  of  God, —  an  impulse  that  is  often  in- 
hibited in  the  individual  by  selfish  and  unworthy  motives.  If 
now  the  mind  can  be  so  filled  with  religious  emotion  that  all 
these  inhibitions  shall  lapse  into  the  background  or  be  clean  for- 
gotten and  only  the  desire  to  do  God's  will  remain,  the  result 
not  only  may  be  excellent,  but  may  lead  to  further  steps  which 
shall  mean  genuine  and  lasting  conversion. 

The  aim  of  the  revivalist's  sermon  or  address  is  seldom  to 
convince  the  reason  by  logical  arguments.  As  the  revivalist 
knows  perfectly  well,  most  of  his  audience  is  already  convinced, 
so  far  as  intellectual  acceptance  is  concerned,  of  all  his  doctrinal 
points,  and  if  they  were  not  he  could  hardly  hope  to  make  any 
great  effect  upon  them  by  logic,  and  if  he  should  do  so  it  would 
have  only  a  logical  effect  in  changing  their  creed.  The  trouble 
with  his  hearers  is  not  in  their  heads  but  in  their  hearts,  not 
in  their  creed  but  in  their  emotions  and  impulses  and  actions. 

22  Cf .  "  Brighten  the  Corner  " —  the  favorite  hymn  of  all  Billy  Sunday's 
audiences. 


178  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

Somehow  he  must  act  upon  their  minds  in  such  a  way  as  to 
control  the  whole  man,  to  give  him  emotions  so  intense  that  he 
shall  never  forget  them  and  that  he  shall  look  upon  life  from  a 
new  point  of  view,  and  readjust  his  whole  system  of  values. 
Hence  it  is  not  logic  that  the  revivalist  needs  to  know  but 
psychology,  and  hence  also  he  is  quite  justified  in  not  making 
his  address  a  cold  logical  argument. 

And  so  every  revivalist  makes  a  large  part  of  his  address  an 
emotional  appeal,  playing  upon  the  hearts  of  his  hearers,  throw- 
ing in  a  bit  of  humor  now  and  then  to  keep  the  attention  of 
the  less  interested,  introducing  many  a  pathetic  story  to  bring 
tears  to  the  eyes,  getting  the  audience  more  and  more  under  his 
sway,  and  finally  leading  up  to  a  well  planned  climax  which 
brings  things  to  a  crisis.  Many  emotions  are  thus  induced,  but 
the  two  most  often  used  in  revivals  are  fear  and  love.  In  the 
days  when  belief  in  hell  was  much  stronger  than  it  is  to-day 
fear  was  a  very  powerful  instrument  in  the  hands  of  the 
preacher.^^  To  depict  the  fate  of  the  lost  soul  in  terrific  terms 
and  to  point  out  that  undoubtedly  some  sitting  there  would 
in  a  very  short  time  be  suffering  those  eternal  torments  was 
an  unfailing  means,  in  the  hands  of  men  like  Jonathan  Ed- 
wards, of  driving  all  inhibitions  out  of  one's  mind  and  making 
one  cry  out  in  despair,  ^'  What  must  I  do  to  be  saved  ? ''  To- 
day it  is  rather  love  than  fear  that  is  emphasized  —  the  love  of 
the  father  for  his  prodigal  son,  the  love  of  Christ  on  the  Cross, 
the  picture  of  God  stretching  out  his  arms  to  the  sinner,  etc. 

Another  means  of  suggestion  besides  this  powerful  appeal 

23  The  use  of  fear  in  revivals  together  with  threats  of  hell  fire  are  by 
no  means  things  of  the  past.  As  all  newspaper  readers  know,  Billy  Sunday 
is  very  generous  with  his  brimstone  and  probably  succeeds  in  terrifying 
some  members  of  his  audience.  An  example  of  this  sort  of  revival  preach- 
ing from  a  less  well  known  evangelist  —  the  Rev.  B.  S.  Taylor  —  seems 
worth  quoting  here.  It  is  taken  from  an  address  delivered  in  1907  in 
northern  New  York:  "  T  proach  hell  because  God  puts  His  special  blessing 
on  it,  convicting  sinners  and  sanctifying  believers,  arousing  the  Church  to 
greater  effort  for  the  salvation  of  the  perishing.  I  preach  hell  because 
it  arouses  their  fears,  arrests  their  consciences,  and  causes  them  to  reform 
their  lives  and  habits  .  .  .  Hell  has  been  running  for  six  thousand  years. 
It  is  filling  up  every  day.  Where  is  it?  About  eighteen  miles  from  here. 
Which  way  is  it?  Straight  down — not  over  eighteen  miles,  down  in  the 
bowels  of  the  earth."  ("Death,  Hell  and  Judgment,"  God's  Revivalist 
Office,  Mount  of  Blessings,  Cincinnati,  0.,  1900.  Republished  in  the  Life 
Line,  July,  1907,  p.  4.) 


CROWD  PSYCHOLOGY  A'NB  REVIVALS      179 

to  the  emotions  and  the  imagination,  is  affirmation  and  repeti- 
tion. Perhaps  no  one  in  the  audience  would  deny  the  truth 
of  Jesus^  words,  "  Ye  must  be  born  again,'^  but  this  intellectual 
assent  to  them  has  no  influence  on  conduct.  When,  however, 
the  audience,  by  all  the  means  thus  far  described,  has  become 
extremely  suggestible  and  has  come  completely  under  the  dom- 
inance of  the  preacher,  his  solemn  affirmation  and  repetition  of 
these  words  of  Jesus  throws  a  new  light  upon  them,  and  they 
fill  and  dominate  the  mind  as  never  before. 

In  what  one  might  call  the  milder  or  more  rationalistic  type 
of  revival  meeting,  the  audience  is  at  this  point  dismissed.  But 
revivalists  who  wish  to  use  all  the  weapons  of  psychology  in 
saving  souls  are  unwilling  to  let  their  hearers  go  home  and 
make  their  decisions  in  the  cold  light  of  to-morrow's  reflection. 
The  iron  that  is  now  hot  will  not  remain  so  long,  and  now 
is  therefore  the  time  to  strike.  If  the  repentant  sinner  can  be 
got  to  put  himself  on  record  before  his  fellows  by  some  overt 
act  as  being  definitively  on  the  Lord's  side,  he  will  find  in 
the  coming  days  all  the  forces  of  personal  pride  and  of  social 
encouragement  reenforcing  his  weakening  enthusiasm.  Hence 
the  use  of  the  "  mourner's  bench,"  the  "  anxious  seat,"  the 
"  sawdust  trail."  Hence  also  the  personal  appeal  at  the  close 
of  the  address  or  during  the  latter  part  of  it,  made  either  by  the 
revivalist  himself  or  by  his  assistants  in  the  audience,  to  particu- 
lar individuals  who  seem  on  the  verge  of  surrender.  The  pro- 
cession of  these  converts  up  the  "  trail "  to  the  "  mourner's 
bench  "  acts,  of  course,  as  a  new  and  powerful  suggestion  upon 
all  who  see  them.  Hymns  are  now  sung  chosen  specially  for 
their  suggestive  effect  —  some  of  them  seemingly  written  to 
produce  auto-suggestion.  What  psychological  means,  for  ex- 
ample, could  be  better  adapted  to  the  end  in  view  than  that 
hymn  so  commonly  used  at  such  meetings : 

"  Just  as  I  am  without  one  plea 
But  that  Thy  blood  was  shed  for  me 
And  that  Thou  bidst  me  come  to  Thee, 
O  Lamb  of  God,  I  come,  I  come." 

Analyze  this  hymn  and  you  will  find  it  psychologically  a  mas- 
terpiece of  auto-suggestion.     In  the  first  place,  the  very  tune 


180  THE  RELIGIOUS  (CONSCIOUSNESS 

to  which  it  is  sung  teuds  to  arouse  the  desired  feeling  state  and 
inspire  ideas  and  impulses  of  self-devotion  and  love.  The  verses 
describe  exactly  the  feeling  of  sinfulness,  hope,  and  love  with 
which  the  revivalist  wishes  to  fill  the  hearts  of  his  hearers.  And 
most  important  and  effective  of  all,  each  verse  ends  with  the 
refrain  "  I  come,  I  come."  Between  the  singing  of  the  verses 
the  speaker  says  in  low  and  tender  tones,  ''  Won't  you  come  ? 
Come  now !  '^  And  then  the  audience  sings  "  I  come,  I  come." 
A  more  obvious  case  of  auto-suggestion  could  not  be  found.^* 

It  is  of  course  the  most  suggestible  w^ho  start  the  procession 
up  the  "  trail,"  the  most  "  primitive,"  the  most  impulsive,  the 
least  rational  and  responsible.  The  appearance  of  slight  ab- 
normal nervous  phenomena  in  some  of  the  more  unstable  mem- 
bers of  the  audience  may  also  have  a  similar  effect  in  increasing 
the  power  of  suggestion.  In  our  day,  to  be  sure,  these  extreme 
expressions  of  emotion  (of  which  more  later  on)  are  pretty 
generally  deprecated  and  may  have  an  inhibitory  rather  than 
a  suggestive  effect  upon  the  beholders.  But  in  the  palmy  days 
of  revivals  they  were  used  as  powerful  implements  by  the 
practiced  revivalist  who  knew  how  to  utilize  them  to  the  utmost. 
Thus  Jonathan  Edwards  writes:  "The  unavoidable  manifes- 
tations of  strong  religious  affections  tend  to  a  happy  influence 
on  the  minds  of  bystanders,  and  are  found  by  experience  to  have 
an  excellent  and  endurable  effect ;  and  so  to  contrive  and  order 
things  that  others  may  have  opportunity  and  advantage  to  ob- 
serve them,  has  been  found  to  be  blessed  as  a  great  means  to 
promote  the  work  of  God."  ^^ 

Probably  the  great  majority  of  revivalists  to-day  deprecate 
the  occurrence  of  such  phenomena  as  those  which  Edwards  and 
the  men  of  his  time  welcomed ;  but  there  still  are  a  few  —  or 
at  least  there  w^re  very  recently  —  who  make  the  most  of 
every  aid,  normal  or  abnormal,  and  who  "  contrive  and  order 
things  "  with  all  the  success  made  possible  by  their  deep  knowl- 
edge of  psychology  and  their  skill  in  applying  it.  Professor 
Coe  tells  of  one  revivalist  who  practiced  the  most  undisguised 

2*  In  a  revival  meeting  in  Mississippi  a  few  years  ago  I  found  this  hymn 
used  in  the  manner  described,  and  with  great  skill. 

25  ''  Thoughts  on  the  Revival  of  Religion  in  New  England  "  (New  York, 
American  Tract  Society),  p.  260. 


CROWD  PSYCHOLOGY  AND  REVIVALS      181 

and  premeditated  form  of  suggestion,  calling  out,  when  no  one 
as  yet  had  started  for  the  mourner's  bench,  "  See  them  coming ! 
See  them  coming !  "  And  he  adds,  "  Now  if  a  professional  hyp- 
notizer  should  employ  precisely  the  same  means  to  bring  sub- 
jects to  the  platform,  he  would  probably  succeed,  though  his 
power  would  go  under  some  other  name  than  preaching  or 
oratory."  ^® 

The  effects  produced  by  so  powerful  a  force  as  a  revival  of 
the  sort  we  have  been  studying  may  be,  and  usually  are,  both 
good  and  evil.  The  power  of  suggestion  which  it  yields  is  sim- 
ply enormous  and  in  the  past  it  has  often  swept  through  whole 
communities  and  countries  with  a  force  of  contagion  hardly 
to  be  resisted.  The  most  hardened  sinners  and  scoffers  often 
yield  to  this  mysterious  force  of  social  suggestion,  this  over- 
powering form  of  ideo-motor  action.  They  come  to  scoff  and 
remain  to  pray.  Innumerable  cases  of  the  sudden  conversion 
of  depraved  men  and  women  in  revival  meetings  are  recorded 
in  the  books,  and  not  infrequently  we  are  assured  that  a  real 
and  lasting  reformation  of  life  has  followed.  Many  a  man 
whose  selfish  and  vicious  instincts  are  too  strong  for  him  to 
overcome  by  any  amount  of  reasoning  and  good  resolve  has 
been  set  right  once  and  for  all  by  the  tremendous  power  of  a 
revival.  He  has  had  a  glimpse  into  a  new  realm  of  life  of 
which  he  never  dreamed  before.  Mr.  W.  T.  Stead  writes  as 
follows  of  the  revival  in  which  as  a  boy  he  was  converted: 
"  There  is  one  point  upon  which  I  think  I  may  fairly  claim  to 
speak  at  first  hand,  and  that  is  as  to  the  effect  of  that  experience 
at  Silcoats  in  1861  upon  my  whole  life.  It  is  forty-three  years 
since  that  revival  at  school.  The  whole  of  my  life  during  these 
forty-three  years  has  been  influenced  by  the  change  which  men 
call  conversion  which  occurred  with  me  when  I  was  twelve. 
Other  spiritual  experiences  I  have  had  and  hope  yet  to  have. 
But  the  fundamental  change  came  to  me  then.  My  life  has 
been  flawed  with  many  failures,  darkened  with  many  sins,  but 
the  thing  in  which  there  was  good,  which  has  enabled  me  to 
resist  temptations  to  which  I  would  otherwise  have  succumbed, 
to  bear  burdens  which  would  otherwise  have  crushed  me  with 

26  "The  Spiritual  Life,"  p.   145.     Cf.  also  the  case  of  Le  Roy  Sunder- 
land, cited  by  Davenport,  op.  cit,,  p.  254-57. 


182  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

their  weight,  uud  which  has  kept  the  soul  withiu  me  ever  joy- 
fully conscious  that,  despite  all  appearances  to  the  contrary, 
this  is  God's  world,  and  that  He  and  I  are  fellow  workers 
in  the  work  of  its  renovation  —  that  potent  thing  came  into 
my  life  then  and  abides  with  me  to  this  hour, —  my  one  incen- 
tive in  this  life;  my  sole  hope  for  that  which  is  to  come."  ^^ 

One  who  should  fail  to  recognize  the  great  service  which  re- 
vivals have  done  in  stirring  and  reinforcing  the  religious  and 
the  moral  life  of  many  men  and  women,  especially  in  the  cen- 
turies before  ours,  would  show  little  comprehension  of  the 
subject.  The  revival  is  a  center  of  enormous  power  and  this 
power  often  works  mightily  for  righteousness.  In  the  words 
of  Mr.  C.  C.  B.  Bardsley,  '^  well-known  facts  are  seen  trans- 
figured with  the  new  light;  doctrines  which  have  been  mechani- 
cally professed  for  years  suddenly  appear  as  intimate  realities 
and  are  invested  with  a  new  and  wonderful  wealth  of  meaning; 
worship  becomes  communion;  prayer  and  praise,  from  being 
formal  utterances  on  the  lips,  become  the  expressions  of  the 
overflowing  desire  and  adoration  of  the  heart."  ^^ 

Unfortunately,  the  enormous  power  of  the  revival  is  not 
always  directed  wholly  toward  ends  so  desirable  as  those  just 
described.  The  power  of  suggestion  which  characterizes  it, 
once  let  loose,  may  produce  effects  that  hardly  tend  to  edifica- 
tion. These  questionable  and  abnormal  effects  are,  indeed,  very 
much  less  common  than  once  they  were,  and  are  steadily  de- 
creasing. Yet  they  are  by  no  means  a  thing  of  the  past,  and 
the  danger  of  them  is  ever  present  once  the  psychical  force  of 
the  revival  has  been  induced.  They  have  formed,  moreover,  so 
striking  a  characteristic  of  the  great  historical  revivals  that  they 
deserve  some  attention  here.  For  purposes  of  exposition  they 
may  be  viewed  under  three  heads, —  namely  as  the  breaking 
down  of  inhibition  (1)  to  emotion,  (2)  to  action,  (3)  to  belief. 

The  letting  loose  of  emotion  is  so  obvious  a  result  of  the 
revival  that  we  need  not  dwell  upon  it.  It  is  brought  about 
by  all  the  elements  of  the  meeting  —  by  the  presence  of  others, 
by  the  prayers,  especially  by  the  hynms,  and  by  the  sermon. ^^ 

27  "The  Welsh  Revival"   (Boston,  1905)   pp.  12-13. 

28  "Revival,  the  Need  and  the  Possibilities"  (London,  Longmans:  1916), 
p.  21. 

29  Among  more  primitive  communities,  e.g.,  with  the  southern  negro  — 


CEOWD  PSYCHOLOGY  ANB  KEVIVALS       183 

The  value  of  this  emotional  incitement  will  depend  on  the  na- 
ture of  the  emotion  aroused  and  on  the  use  made  of  it.  It 
may  be  a  decisive  force  in  the  struggle  of  higher  ideals  over 
lower  tendencies,  and  may  thereby  carry  the  individual  over 
some  turning  point  in  his  life  and  thus  largely  determine  his 
destiny  and  usefulness.  On  the  other  hand  to  appeal  to  the 
emotions  upon  questions  where  only  reason  and  evidence  are 
really  relevant  is  to  found  one's  house  upon  the  sands.  The 
immediate  results  may  pile  up  fine  figures  of  conversion  and  of 
increased  church  membership,  but  the  seeming  growth  of  the 
religious  community,  thus  brought  about,  will  be  very  unsound. 

The  breaking  down  of  the  ordinary  inhibitions  to  action  and 
the  corresponding  reinforcement  brought  to  various  motor  im- 
pulses by  the  excitement  of  the  revival  needs  no  special  treat- 
ment here,  and  many  illustrations  of  it  will  probably  occur  to 
the  reader  —  such  as  the  preaching  of  Peter  the  Hermit,  the 
"  Children's  Crusade,"  contemporary  methods  for  raising  money 
at  church  meetings,  for  inducing  drinkers  to  sign  the  pledge 
and  young  men  to  promise  to  join  the  church  or  go  upon  mis- 
sions. There  is,  however,  one  peculiar  expression  of  the  ab- 
normal impulsiveness  sometimes  produced  by  revivals  which 
deserves  some  consideration  here,  both  because  of  its  rather 
striking  nature,  and  also  because  of  its  continual  reappearance 
at  various  times  in  the  history  of  Christianity,  from  the  days  of 
the  Apostles  down  to  our  own  time.  I  refer  to  glossolalia,  or 
"  speaking  with  tongues." 

It  consists  in  this:  that  under  the  pressure  of  great  excite- 
ment one  or  more  individuals  begin  to  express  their  emotions 
by  pouring  out  a  broth  of  meaningless  syllables,  which  they 
and  those  around  them  take  to  belong  to  some  unknown  lan- 
guage. This  gibberish  of  syllables  and  new-made  sounds  is  of 
course  not  all  invented  on  the  spur  of  the  moment.     Try  to 

the  sermon  is  almost  entirely  an  emotional  affair.  It  contains  practically 
no  ideas,  no  attempt  at  reasoning;  it  is  merely  an  excited  endeavor  to 
rouse  the  emotions.  Thus  in  one  negro  revival  meeting  which  I  attended 
in  Mississippi  the  preacher  intoned  his  address, —  sang  it  on  one  or  two 
notes.  What  he  said  was  merely  a  concatenation  of  misquoted  and  irrele- 
vant Bible  verses,  quite  detached;  but  the  result  was  considerable.  If 
he  had  spoken  in  Chinese  and  used  the  same  intoning  or  singing  method, 
his  results  would  probably  have  been  about  as  great. 


184  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

talk  nonsense  for  five  minutes  and  you  will  see  why.  Some 
real  words  will  now  and  then  come  out.  Especially  will  this  be 
the  case  with  those  who  think  they  are  speak in^:^  some  language 
not  their  own  and  who  happen  to  know  a  few  words  of  some 
other  tongue.  In  the  volley  of  meaningless  sounds  which  they 
pour  forth  they  will  be  pretty  sure  to  include  specimens  of 
whatever  foreign  tongue  they  know  and  now  and  then  a  word  of 
their  own  language.  This  being  the  case,  it  naturally  happens 
that  by-standers  who  are  thoroughly  convinced  that  this  col- 
lection of  sounds  really  means  something  and  is  inspired  by  the 
Holy  Ghost,  "svill  recognize  a  word  occasionally  and  interpret 
the  meaning  of  the  whole  accordingly.  And  the  interpretation 
is  of  course  still  more  due  to  intonation,  gesture,  the  general  ex- 
pression of  emotion,  and  the  conventional  ideas  uppermost  in 
the  meeting. 

The  frequency  of  this  peculiar  phenomenon  is  apparently  due 
to  two  things.  (1)  First  the  presence  of  an  overpowering 
emotion  altogether  in  excess  of  ideas.  ^^  Brethren,"  exclaims 
a  brother  in  a  New  York  camp  meeting  of  \vhom  Professor  Coe 
writes,  "  Brethren,  I  feel  —  I  feel  —  I  feel  —  I  feel  —  I  feel 
—  I  can't  tell  vou  how  I  feel,  but  O  I  feel !  I  feel !  "  ^o  Feel- 
ing,  on  the  other  hand,  is  notoriously  incommunicable  in  words, 
and  on  the  other  it  is  essentially  explosive  and  must  be  expressed 
somehow.  So  some  brethren  say  "  I  feel,"  others,  shout  and 
sing,  and  others  speak  with  tongues.  No  words  of  any  known 
tongue  will  express  their  feeling,  so  to  give  it  vent  they 
use  the  words  of  an  unknown  tongue. —  (2)  The  other  cause 
of  this  peculiar  phenomenon  is  the  powerful  suggestion 
derived  from  the  Acts  of  the  Apostles  and  the  A^Titings  of  St. 
Paul.  To  speak  in  an  unknown  tongue  is  Biblical,  and  prob- 
ably most  of  those  w^ho  indulge  in  it  get  the  idea  from  the  Bible. 
It  is  spoken  of  in  the  New  Testament  as  a  peculiar  sign  of  the 
presence  of  the  Holy  Ghost.  Hence  when  one  is  sure  from  the 
intensity  of  one's  feelings  that  the  Holy  Ghost  is  within  one,  it 
comes  into  one's  head  to  express  one's  emotions  by  speaking  in  an 
unknown  tongue. 

The  first  occurrence  of  the  phenomenon  of  which  we  have 
any  record  was  at  Pentecost.     It  was  a  time  of  very  intense 

80  "The  Spiritual  Life,"  p.  215. 


CROWD  PSYCHOLOGY  AND  REVIVALS       185 

religious  excitement  and  suggestibility.  There  had  been  days 
of  oppressive  strain  and  waiting,  and  at  last  the  flood  gates  of 
emotion  were  opened  and  a  great  revival  occurred.  Under  the 
influence  of  this  intense  emotion  some  of  the  individuals  started 
expressing  their  new-found  joy  either  in  some  real  language 
which  they  knew  but  which  was  not  their  own  or  else  in  the 
same  sort  of  meaningless  syllables  that  are  used  by  their  imita- 
tors to-day.  Jerusalem,  it  must  be  remembered,  was  a  decidedly 
polyglot  community,  and  nearly  every  individual  in  this  first 
Christian  revival  knew  a  great  many  words  of  other  languages 
besides  his  own  —  it  was  impossible  to  walk  the  streets  with- 
out hearing  and  learning  them.  No  great  wonder  then  that 
the  listeners,  made  credulous  by  emotional  excitement  and  sug- 
gestion, should  say,  "  We  hear  them  speak  every  one  in  our  own 
language."  ^^  The  fact  that  it  was  taken  as  a  sign  of  the  pres- 
ence of  the  Spirit  forced  its  acceptance  upon  the  early  Church 
as  a  recognized  form  of  religious  expression,  and  it  is  spoken 
of  by  St.  Paul  as  on  a  par  with  other  "  spiritual  gifts."  It 
seems  to  have  been  especially  prevalent  among  the  Corinthians. 
And  in  giving  them  directions  as  to  their  meetings  St.  Paul 
says :  "  If  any  man  speaketh  in  a  tongue  let  it  be  by  two  or 
at  most  three,  and  that  in  turn;  and  let  one  interpret:  but  if 
there  be  no  interpreter  let  him  keep  silence  in  the  church  and 
let  him  speak  to  himself  and  to  God."  It  is  interesting  to 
note  that  Paul  refers  to  speaking  with  tongues  as  a  method  of 
giving  expression  to  the  ''  spirit "  (which  I  suppose  one  may 
understand,  from  a  psychological  point  of  view,  to  mean  the 
feelings  but  not  the  understanding) .  "  For  when  I  pray  in  a 
tongue  my  spirit  prayeth  but  my  understanding  is  unfruitful. — 
What  is  it  then?  I  will  pray  with  the  spirit  and  I  will  pray 
with  the  understanding  also."  ^^  The  tone  of  this  passage  shows 
that  Paul,  with  his  usual  keen  insight  and  good  sense,  tolerated 
rather  than  urged  this  kind  of  expression, —  a  fact  which  is 

31  Weinel,  who  has  studied  glossolalia  in  the  New  Testament  carefully, 
regards  these  words  as  an  interpretative  addition  of  the  compiler  of  Acts, 
not  based  upon  the  sources  but  upon  his  false  assumption  that  in  "  speaking 
with  tongues  "  unknown  but  real  languages  were  used.  "  Die  Wirkungen 
des  Geistes  und  der  Geister  "  (Freiburg,  Mohr:  1899),  p.  75. 

32  See  1  Corinthians,  XIV,  14.  The  feelings  seem  to  have  been  regarded 
as  inspired  by  the  Spirit. 


? 


186  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

better  seen  in  such  a  passage  as  I  Cor.  XIII  and  XIV  where  he 
discoiira«:es  the  cnstoni,  savintr,  *'  I  had  rather  speak  five  words 
with  my  understanding'  tliat  I  nii«rht  instruct  others  also,  than 
ten  thousand  words  in  a  ton^ie,"  (XIV.  10)  ;  and,  **  If  I  speak 
with  the  tongues  of  men  and  of  angels  and  have  not  love  I  am 
become  sounding  brass  or  a  clanging  cymbal."  ^^ 

The  phenomenon,  however,  has  persisted  all  through  the 
Christian  centuries  and  crops  out  now  and  then  (among  the 
more  primitive)  at  times  of  great  religious  excitement  —  es- 
pecially as  a  result  of  revivals.  (  It  seems  to  occur  most  often, 
as  one  might  expect,  in  rather  polyglot  communities,  where 
every  one  knows  some  words  of  some  foreign  language. )  I  cite 
a  few  instances,  llr.  W.  T.  Ellis,  who  was  sent  around  the 
world  in  1907  to  investigate  Christian  missions,  came  upon  the 
phenomenon  in  India  (a  very  polyglot  community)  among 
Hindu  Christians, —  and  in  fact  returned  a  convert  to  its  super- 
natural genuineness,  though  apparently  without  any  careful  in- 
vestigation. In  the  same  year  the  phenomenon  appeared  in 
South  America,  Colorado,  California,  Maine,  and  several  other 
states,  and  at  about  the  same  time  in  Norway,  Germany,  Eng- 
land, and  Switzerland.  As  late  as  1910  there  was  to  my 
knowledge  a  considerable  epidemic  of  it  in  Chicago  and  Zion 
City.  And  in  fact  the  practice  of  speaking  with  tongues  is 
probably  to  be  found  in  some  part  of  the  United  States  nearly 
all  the  time.^"* 

33  For  a  careful  study  of  the  whole  matter  see  Weinel,  op.  cit.,  pp.  71-101. 

3*  See  the  Literary  Digest  for  Feb.  1,  1908,  p.  157,  quoting  from  the 
Presbyterian  Standard  of  Charlotte,  N.  C;  also  F.  G.  Henke's  "The  Gift 
of  Toupfues  and  Related  Phenomona  at  the  Present  Day,"  Am.  Jour,  of 
Theol.  XIII,  193-95.  For  accounts  of  various  recent  cases  see  Zeitschrift 
fiir  Relipionspsycholopie,  I,  320,  392,  439-40,  470-71;  The  Open  Court 
XXII,  492-98;  Die  Christliche  We/f  (Marburg)  for  Mar.  12,  1908,  pp.  272- 
276;  Die  Heiligung  (Steglitz),  Heft  Xr.  110;  Rubanowitsch's  "Das  heutige 
Zungenreden "  (Xeumiinster)  ;  and  Dallmeyer's  "Satan  unter  den  Heili- 
gen "  (Xeumiinster).  The  most  instructive  case  of  glossolalia  I  have 
found  is  that  of  the  German  "  Pastor  Paul  "  (Editor  of  ''Die  Heiligung") 
whose  case  is  reported  at  length  in  his  own  monthly  and  also  in  Die 
Christliche  Welt.  He  had  read  with  great  interest  of  the  speaking  with 
tongues  in  America  and  Xorway,  went  to  the  latter  country  to  see  for 
himself  and  was  deeply  impressed,  studied  First  Corinthians  with  care, 
and  finally  on  Sept.  15,  1907,  in  a  religious  meeting  the  power  came  upon 
him  also.     Singing  "  in  tongues  "  has  become  one  of  his  accomplishments, 


CKOWD  PSYCHOLOGY  AND  REVIVALS      187 

More  striking  and  certainly  far  more  undesirable  than  speak- 
ing with  tongues  are  the  so-called  '^  bodily  effects  "  of  revival  ex- 
citement. They  are  of  many  sorts  —  and  most  of  them  thor- 
oughly pathological  and  disgusting.  Suggestion  and  excitement 
here  become  positively  abnormal,  so  that  the  man  ceases  to  have 
control  any  longer  of  his  o^vn  nerves  and  muscles.  The  simplest 
form  perhaps  is  the  "  powers/'  common  in  the  religious  meet- 
ings of  the  southern  negro, —  and  sometimes  among  whites. 
The  victim  (for  so  we  may  call  him)  jumps  about,  or  collapses 
into  unconsciousness  ^^  through  religious  excitement.     Extremes 

the  tune  of  some  familiar  hymn  getting  itself  filled  out  with  new  syllables 
in  meter  and  rhyme.     Here  is  an  example: 

"  Schua  ea,  schua  ea 

o  tschi  biro  ti  ra  pea 

akki    lungo    ta    ri    fungo 

u  li  hara  to  ra  tungo 

latsehi  bungo  ti  tu  ta." 
By  a  comparison  of  these  hymns  "  in  tongues  "  ("  in  Zungen  ")  with  the 
German  of  the  hymn  usually  sung  to  the  given  tune,  Pastor  Paul  has  been 
enabled  to  discover  the  meaning  of  some  of  the  new  words,  and  now  rejoices 
that  he  has  learned  some  of  the  language  of  Heaven  {'' ich  hahe  etwas  von 
der  himmlischen  Sprache  gelemt  "). 

So  far  as  I  know  there  is  nothing  so  elaborate  as  this  in  America.  In 
1910  I  was  present  at  a  religious  meeting  in  Chicago  in  which  the  brethren 
and  especially  the  sisters  spoke  in  tongues,  but  in  these  cases  the  speaking 
was  almost  invariably  confined  to  exclamations  more  or  less  long.  Never, 
so  far  as  I  know,  has  the  American  type  of  glossolalia  ventured  into  verse, 
although  singing  in  tongues  is  not  uncommon.  By  far  the  most  detailed 
treatment  of  this  subject  is  that  by  Emile  Lombard,  "  De  la  Glossolalie, 
chez  les  premiers  chretiens  at  des  phenomenes  similaires ''  (Lausanne, 
Bridel;  1910).  A  description  of  the  Chicago  type  of  glossolalia,  together 
with  an  excellent  psychological  analysis,  will  be  found  in  Dr.  Henke's 
article.  An  interesting  case  of  glossolalia  connected  neither  with  revivals 
nor  with  Christianity  was  investigated  by  Prof.  James  in  1895,  who  com- 
municated to  the  Society  for  Psycliical  Research  the  account  of  the  phe- 
nomenon written  by  the  subject  himself.  It  was  diagnosed  by  Prof.  James 
as  **  a  decidedly  rudimentary  form  of  motor  automatism  analogous  to 
the  scrawls  and  scribbles  of  an  '  undeveloped '  automatically  writing  hand." 
The  meaningless  words  produced  in  this  case  were  of  course  much  like 
those  ejaculated  by  a  practiced  speaker-with-tongues  of  the  religious  sort, 
and  in  fact  (like  Pastor  Paul's)  were  in  verse  as  well  as  prose. —  ("A  Case 
of  Psychic  Automatism,  including  *  Speaking  with  Tongues.'  "  P.  S.  P.  R. 
XII,  277-97.) 

35  Loss  of  consciousness  was  not  uncommon  in  the  revival  in  Wales  in 
the  middle  of  the  19th  Century, —  "  sleeping  cases  "  they  were  called.  A 
similar  loss  of  consciousness  took  place  occasionally  under  Finney.  See 
Davenport,  pp.  192-200. 


188  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

of  this  sort  have  been  common  in  many  revivals,  an  especially 
striking  case  being  the  "  rolling  exercises,"  "  jerks,"  and 
"  barks"  of  the  great  Kentucky  revival  in  1800.  I  cite  in  a 
note  the  account  of  them  given  by  Richard  M'Nemar  in  1807.^® 
The  Kentucky  revival  though  extreme  was  by  no  means 
unique  in  its  production  of  physical  effects.  Similar  scenes 
were  common  in  the  revivals  under  John  Wesley  ^^  and  other 

36  "  The  rolling  exercises  consisted  in  being  cast  do^vn  in  a  violent  man- 
ner, doubled  with  the  head  and  feet  together,  and  rolled  over  and  over  like 
a  wheel,  or  stretched  in  a  prostrate  manner,  turned  swiftly  over  and  over 
like  a  log.  This  was  considered  very  debasing  and  mortifying,  especially 
if  the  person  was  taken  in  this  manner  through  the  mud,  and  sullied 
therewith  from  head  to  foot.  Still  more  demeaning  and  mortifying  were 
the  jerks.  Nothing  in  nature  could  better  represent  this  strange  and 
unaccountable  operation  than  for  one  to  goad  another,  alternately  on  every 
side,  with  a  piece  of  red  hot  iron.  The  exercises  commonly  began  in  the 
head  which  would  fly  backward  and  forward  and  from  side  to  side,  with 
a  quick  jolt,  which  the  person  would  naturally  labor  to  suppress,  but  in 
vain;  and  the  more  any  one  labored  to  stay  himself  and  be  sober,  the 
more  he  staggered  and  the  more  rapidly  his  twitches  increased.  He  must 
necessarily  go  as  he  was  stimulated,  whether  with  a  violent  dash  on  the 
ground  and  bounce  from  place  to  place  like  a  foot-ball,  or  hop  round,  with 
head,  limbs,  and  trunk  twitching  and  jolting  in  every  direction,  as  if 
they  must  inevitably  fly  asunder.  And  how  such  could  escape  injury  was 
no  small  wonder  to  spectators.  By  this  strange  operation  the  human 
frame  was  commonly  so  transformed  and  transfigured  as  to  lose  every 
trace  of  its  natural  appearance.  Sometimes  the  head  would  be  twitched 
right  and  left,  to  a  half  round,  with  such  velocity  that  not  a  feature 
could  be  discovered,  but  the  face  appear  as  much  behind  as  before;  and  in 
the  quick  progressive  jerk,  it  would  seem  as  if  the  person  was  transmuted 
into  some  other  species  of  creature.  .  .  .  The  last  possible  grade  of  morti- 
fication seemed  to  be  couched  in  the  harks,  which  frequently  accompanied 
the  jerks;  nor  were  they  the  most  mean  and  contemptible  characters 
who  were  the  common  victims  of  this  disgracing  operation;  but  persona 
who  considered  themselves  in  the  foremost  ranks,  possessed  of  the  high- 
est improvements  of  human  nature,  both  men  and  women,  would  be 
forced  to  personate  that  animal  whose  name,  appropriated  to  a  human 
creature,  is  accounted  the  most  vulgar  stigma  —  forced  I  say,  for  no 
argument  but  force  could  induce  any  one  of  polite  breeding  in  a  company 
to  take  the  position  of  a  canine  beast,  move  about  on  all  fours,  growl, 
snap  the  teeth,  and  bark  in  so  personating  a  manner  as  to  set  the  eyes 
and  ears  of  the  spectator  at  variance."  ( "  The  Kentucky  Revival :  or  A 
Short  History  of  the  Late  Extraordinary  Outpouring  of  the  Spirit  of  God 
in  the  Western  States  of  America,"  by  Richard  M'Nemar,  published  in  1807 
and  reprinted  in  New  York  by  Jenkins  in  1846.)  The  quotation  above  is 
from  pp.  64-66. 

3"  See  his  "  Journal,"  passim,  but  esp.,  April  to  October,  1739.  Cf.  also 
Davenport,  op.  cit.  Chap.  IX.  In  the  recent  Welsh  revival  effects  were 
noticed  which  seem  to  have  been  due  to  subconscious  phenomena, —  e.g., 
hallucinations,  "  photisms,"  etc.    See  Fryer,  op.  cit.  pp.  94-97. 


CKOWD  PSYCHOLOGY  AND  KEYIVALS       189 

distinguished  and  venerated  evangelists,  and  abnormal  phe- 
nomena of  much  the  same  sort  are  still  produced  in  certain 
American  communities.^^  Nor  were  these  unpleasant  phe- 
nomena generally  regarded  as  deplorable,  or  explicable  by  na- 
tural causes.  Something  supernatural  was  seen  in  them,  and 
they  were  explained  as  the  work  either  of  God  or  of  Satan. 
Three  of  the  older  authorities  on  revivals  from  whom  I  have 
quoted, — Jonathan  Edwards,^^  Wilkinson,'**^  and  M'l^emar  *^ — 
regarded  them  as  the  work  of  God,  brought  about  for  the  purpose 
of  saving  souls.  This  explanation  has  been  pretty  generally 
given  up  by  revivalists  to-day,^^ —  the  Holy  Spirit  is  no  longer 
seen  in  the  "  jerks."  But  some  evangelists  still  see  in  patho- 
logical phenomena  of  this  sort  some  kind  of  supernatural  power, 
attributing  them,  however,  not  to  God  but  to  the  Powers  of 
Evil.  This  seems,  for  example,  to  be  the  position  of  Evan 
Koberts,  the  great  Welsh  revivalist.*^  With  the  spread  of 
psychological  knowledge,  however,  evangelists  are  becoming 
more  and  more  inclined  to  see  in  the  abnormal  phenomena  that 
sometimes  accompany  revivals  only  the  results  of  over-wrought 
nerves  and  great  suggestibility.**  It  goes  without  saying  that 
this  is  undoubtedly  the  true  explanation.  Great  nervous  ex- 
citement of  any  kind,  but  especially  fear  and  joy,  has  to  over- 
flow into  the  muscles  somehow.  This  is  seen,  as  Davenport  has 
pointed   out,   in  the   shouts   and   actions   of   children,    and   in 

38  E.g.  the  "  holy  rollers."  An  account  of  a  phenomenon  much  like  the 
"  jerks  "  and  occurring  in  a  clergyman  in  1907  will  be  found  in  Dr.  Henke's 
article  above  referred  to. 

39  Op.  cit.  pp.  258-59. 

40  Op.  cit.  pp.  116-117. 

41  Op.  cit.  pp.  33-34. 

42  Not  altogether.  The  clergyman  who  had  the  jerks  in  1907  "(referred 
to  in  Dr.  Henke's  article),  was  very  proud  of  them  and  regarded  them  as 
a  mark  of  divine  favor. 

43  See  the  Zeitschrift  f.  Religionspsy.  I.  471.  The  1907  revival  in  Kassel 
and  other  parts  of  Germany  produced  many  of  the  common  bodily  effects. 
These  were  attributed  by  some  to  God,  by  some  to  evil  spirits,  one  au- 
thority arguing  learnedly  for  the  latter  hypothesis  because  Daniel,  Paul, 
and  John  fell  on  their  faces,  while  those  who  spoke  with  tongues  in 
Kassel  fell  on  their  backs! 

44  So  long  ago  as  1842  this  view  was  taken  by  the  very  sensible  anony- 
mous author  of  a  little  book  already  once  referred  to  — "  Revivals  of  Re- 
ligion in  Scotland,  Ireland,  and  Wales" —  (published  in  Philadelphia  by 
the  Presbyterian  Board),  see  pp.  13  and  14. 


190  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

the  expression  of  strong  emotions  generally  in  both  animals 
and  men.  Emotions  normal  in  amount  and  character  find  regu- 
lar channels  prepared  for  their  escape,  but  when  the  emotion  is 
too  strong  or  too  sudden  for  the  usual  channels  it  takes  unusual 
ones.  At  such  times  the  least  suggestion,  such  as  that  of  seeing 
some  one  else  express  himself  by  jerking  or  barking,  takes  pos- 
session of  the  individual  and  determines  the  outlet  for  the  nerve 
excitement,  especially  in  persons  of  more  or  less  primitive  dis- 
position. 

So  much  for  the  effect  of  revivals  upon  action  and  impulse. 
We  turn  now  to  the  third  general  result  —  namely  the  aboli- 
tion of  inhibitions  on  belief,  the  banishing  of  the  critical  reason. 
The  extreme  results  which  the  less  admirable  revivalists  seek 
are  of  course  impossible  unless  the  critical  reason  be  quite  in- 
hibited;  and  all  evangelists  alike  seek  (and  quite  rightly)  to 
inhibit  what  they  call  the  worldly  reason,  the  counsels  of  selfish 
prudence  and  mere  material  welfare.  When  critical  thought 
is  in  whole  or  in  part  put  to  sleep  through  the  influence  of  an 
emotional  atmosphere  of  suggestion,  it  is  surprising  to  see 
how  audiences  of  very  high  intelligence  can  at  times  be  reduced 
to  a  state  of  relative  primitive  credulity.  Examples  are  to  be 
found  in  the  meetings  in  which  hundreds  of  young  men  and 
women  are  brought  to  believe  absolutely  in  the  "  conversion 
of  the  world  in  this  generation."  Arguments  of  course  "are  used 
but  these  are  not  the  only  tools  nor  the  chief  ones.  The  princi- 
pal thing  is  to  rouse  what  Leuba  calls  the  "  faith  state,"  to  put 
the  audience  into  the  emotional  mood  of  belief.  Make  the  in- 
dividual wa7it  to  believe  with  all  his  heart,  make  him  feel  that 
he  ought  to  believe,  and  also  that  others  around  him  are  believ- 
ing, and  he  will  believe.  "  To  doubt  would  be  disloyalty,  to 
falter  would  be  sin."  He  simply  shuts  his  eyes  to  the  enormous 
and  insuperable  difficulties  of  the  task  proposed,  the  stubborn 
facts  which  make  his  inspiring  dream  only  a  dream  after  all. 
Not  that  I  would  deny  the  value  of  a  daring  faith, —  a  faith 
which  while  not  shutting  its  eyes  to  the  facts  is  willing  to 
"  take  a  long  chance."  Every  year  this  kind  of  faith  produces 
seeming  miracles  and  regularly  accomplishes  the  impossible. 
And  revivals  of  the  better  sort  have  done  a  magnificent  work 


CKOWD  PSYCHOLOGY  AND  EEVIVALS      191 

in  kindling  this  kind  of  faith  —  faith  in  God,  in  one's  fellow 
men,  in  oneself,  faith  in  the  eternal  laws  of  righteousness  and 
the  virtue  that  is  its  o\\ti  reward,  the  faith  that  stops  the  mouths 
of  lions,  quenches  the  violence  of  fire,  and  endures  without  com- 
plaint the  unheralded  drudgery  of  the  common  day. 

Unfortunately  there  are  revivals  of  another  sort  and  re- 
vivalists who  seek  other  things,  and  these  often  succeed  in 
changing  man  from  a  rational  animal  to  an  emotional  animal, 
in  breaking  down  all  forms  of  reason  and  making  him  open  to 
every  idea  the  revivalist  would  suggest.  The  strength  of  in- 
hibiting reason  on  such  occasions  is  seen  when  the  usual  ex- 
citement of  the  revival  meeting  is  dampened  or  suppressed  by 
the  presence  of  a  few  skeptics.  These  act  as  a  break  on  the 
suggestions  of  the  speaker  and  keep  some  rational  inhibitions 
awake  in  the  minds  of  the  audience.^^  When  there  are  no 
such  inhibiting  rational  factors  present,  the  audience  may  be 
reduced  to  a  state  of  very  great  credulity  and  is  ready  to  ac- 
cept whatever  ideas  arise.  All  the  opponents  of  the  revivalist 
are  of  course  wrong  and  their  arguments  must  simply  not  be 
heard.  The  ideas  present  to  the  audience  are  so  vivid  that  they 
m.ust  be  true.  What  the  speaker  and  community  at  large  be- 
lieve is  accepted  by  the  individual  at  such  times  as  not  to  be 
doubted  —  even  if  it  be  quite  out  of  the  course  of  natural  science 
and  rational  thought.^^ 

The  most  extreme  pathological  result  of  revival  methods  is 

*5  This  has  been  noticed  by  several,  e.g.,  in  the  recent  Welsh  revival  — 
one  of  the  ministers  saying  concerning  it  on  one  occasion,  *'  I  don't  know 
what  is  the  reason  that  this  meeting  and  others  I  have  noticed  are  so 
hard.  The  Spirit  of  God  does  not  seem  to  work  here  to-night  yet,  but 
I  know  that  after  the  skeptics  and  lookers-on  have  gone  home,  it  is  then 
that  the  spirit  works  among  us."      (Fryer,  op.  cit.,  p.  127.) 

*6  It  is  in  this  anti-rational  attempt  to  blind  the  audience  to  the  facts  of 
science  and  make  them  deaf  to  the  appeals  of  cool  thinking  that  the  Rev. 
Billy  Sunday  is  chiefly  to  be  criticized.  His  revivals  have,  on  the  whole, 
been  notably  free  from  "  bodily  effects,"  and  his  reiterated  emphasis  upon 
the  moral  issue  deserves  warm  commendation.  His  attempt,  however,  to 
base  the  religious  faith  of  his  converts  upon  the  impossible  dogmas  of 
a  naive  and  outgrown  theology  must  inevitably  militate  against  the 
permanence  of  his  results.  It  is  another  case  of  founding  one's  house 
upon  the  sands. —  The  reader  will  find  a  sympathetic  presentation  ( pos- 
sible over-sympathetic)  of  the  better  side  of  Mr.  Sunday's  work,  in  the 
official  account  of  the  revivalist  by  "  Ram's  Horn  Brown"   (Rev.  Elijah  P. 


192  THE  KELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

of  course  insanity.  This,  to  bo  sure,  does  not  occur  often, 
but  it  does  occasionally.  Weak  minds  mav  be  roused  to  such 
a  state  of  emotional  excitement  that  they  simply  go  to  pieces. 
Fortunately  seizures  of  this  sort  usually  last  for  only  a  short 
time.  Under  the  influence  of  suggestion  from  the  New  Testa- 
ment they  sometimes  take  the  form  of  demon  possession.  In 
Wesley's  reviyal  this  was  common.''"  Sometimes  the  insanity 
induced  by  revival  excitement  is  more  lasting,  and  it  may  take 
months  or  even  a  vear  to  restore  the  weak  and  shattered  mind 
to  anything  like  a  normal  balance.'**  A  few  years  ago  I  was 
told,  by  the  physician  in  charge  of  a  large  asylum  in  the  South, 
of  a  revival  gotten  up  by  the  "  Holiness "  sect  which  had 
brought  to  the  asylum  three  cases  in  one  week ;  and  one  or  two 
cases  of  temporary  insanity,  he  said,  were  commonly  to  be  ex- 
pected after  such  a  period  of  emotionalism.  The  proportion 
of  persons  affected  in  this  way  is,  however,  extremely  small. 
According  to  Fryer,  not  more  than  one  per  cent  of  the  increase 
of  insanity  in  Wales  in  1905  was  due  to  the  revival.'*^  De 
Fursac  would  place  it  higher.^^  The  increase  in  any  case,  how- 
ever, is  very  slight.  And  one  should  set  against  this  increase 
the  fact  that  the  number  of  cases  of  insanity  in  Wales  due  to 
alcoholism  decreased  at  the  same  time  (and  probably  as  a  con- 
sequence of  the  revival)  from  seventy-one  to  forty-two,  or  from 
sixteen  per  cent  of  the  total  number  of  cases  in  1904  to  twelve  per 
cent  in  1905.  Thus  as  de  Fursac  says,  "  if  one  considers  the 
number  of  those  whom  the  revival  saved  from  alcoholic  insanity 
and  the  number  of  those  whom  the  revival  threw  into  religious 
insanity,  society  is  seen  to  benefit  by  it.     '  It  is  better,'  as  some 

Brown.  D.D. )— entitled  "The  Real  Billy  Sunday"  (New  York,  Revell 
Co.:    1914). 

*7  Cf.  Davenport,  pp.  158-162. 

48  De  Fureac  saw  a  student  in  the  Asylum  of  Glamargan  (in  Wales) 
whose  mental  health  seemed  to  be  permanently  compromised  as  a  result  of 
the  revival. 

4'»  This  is  based  on  figures  from  the  Glamargan  County  Asylum,  but 
presumably  holds  roughly  for  the  rest  of  the  revival  district. —  Op.  cit.  p. 
142. 

^0  The  director  of  the  Glamargan  Asylum  gave  de  Fursac  the  following 
figures;  Number  of  cases  resulting  from  religious  exaltation  in  1904  (the 
year  Ijefore  the  revival),  5;  in  1005,  21.  Tn  1004  the  religious  case<  con- 
stituted one  per  c«nt  of  the  total  niimber  of  cases  received;  in  1905 
six  per  cent. 


CEOWD  PSYCHOLOGY  AND  REVIVALS      193 

one  has  said,  '  that  one  man  should  go  mad  through  religion 
than  that  ten  should  go  mad  through  alcohol.'  "  ^^ 

This  quotation  brings  up  the  question  of  the  relative  good  and 
harm  wrought  by  revivals,  a  question  too  large  to  be  exhaus- 
tively discussed  in  this  place.^"  Here  I  can  merely  remind  the 
reader  of  what  I  said  at  the  beginning  of  this  chapter  as  to  the 
normal  place  of  rhythm  in  all  life,  and  of  revivals  in  all  re- 
ligions. Revivals  of  religion,  revivals  of  morality,  of  insight, 
of  patriotism,  of  ideals,  are  necessary  to  the  best  and  noblest 
living.  This  is  recognized  by  institutions  quite  remote  from 
evangelism.  Every  nation  has  its  annually  recurring  seasons 
for  the  nurture  of  patriotism.  The  American  college  renews 
the  loyalty  of  her  sons  at  Commencement  and  at  class  reunions, 
and  there  they  often  celebrate  revivals  not  only  of  college  spirit 
but  of  human  loyalty  and  aspiration.  So  long  as  human  spirits 
are  connected  with  human  bodies,  some  kind  of  seasonal  re- 
vival will  be  an  important  part  of  their  spiritual  food. 

This  does  not  mean  that  the  old-fashioned  emotional  revival, 
gotten  up  to  save  souls  by  means  of  the  power  of  suggestion,  is 
an  immortal  institution.  Its  day  is  fast  going  —  is  practically 
gone.  But  while  the  harmful  methods  of  the  old  revival  are 
being  given  up,  all  that  was  best  in  it,  by  the  process  of  natural 
selection,  survives  and  will  live  on.    And  in  a  very  general  way 

51  Op.  cit.,  pp.  124-125.  De  Fursac  adds  that  the  police  records  of 
Glamargan  County  show  even  greater  results  in  the  repression  of  alcohol- 
ism. The  number  of  cases  of  drunkenness  recorded  in  1904  was  10,686;  in 
1905,  8,422.  This  improvement,  moreover,  did  not  stop  at  the  close  of 
the  revival:  in  1906  the  number  of  cases  was  only  5,673. —  See  pp.  126  and 
127,  note. 

52  The  reader  will  find  this  discussed  by  the  following  authors : 
Cutten,  "The  Ppycholo.'?:ical  Phenomena  of  Christianity"  (Xew  York,  Scrib- 

ner's:   1908)',  Chap.  XIV. 
Davenport,  op.  cit.,  Chaps.  XIII  and  XIV. 
Dike,  "  A  Study  of  New  England  Revivals."     Am.  Jour,  of  Sociology,  XV, 

361-78. 
Janes,  "  Religious  Revivals,  their  Ethical  Significance"   {Internat.  Jour,  of 

Ethics,  XVI,  332-340). 
Moses,  "Pathological  Aspects  of  Religion"    (Am.  Jour,  of  Religious  Pay. 

and  Ed.,  Supplement  I.     September,  1906,  pp.  47-59). 
Prime,  op.  cit.,  pp.  150f,  178f,  256f. 

Sprague,  "Lectures  on  the  Revivals  of  Religion"  (N.  Y.,  Appleton:  1833). 
Starbuck,  "  The  Psychology  of  Religion,"  pp.  165-179. 
Stead,  "  The  Welsh  Revival." 


194  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

it  is  not  hard  to  indicate  which  parts  of  it  were  evil  and  which 
were  good.  The  positive  elements  in  it,  one  may  say,  consti- 
tute its  real  value,  the  negative  elements  its  harmful  limitations. 
That  doubtless  is  a  rather  abstract  way  of  putting  it,  but  what 
I  moan  is  this:  The  inhibition  of  reason,  the  inhibition  of  free 
and  responsible  individiinl  action,  the  forcing  of  emotions  and 
convictions  and  pliysiral  reactions  upon  relatively  passive  re- 
cipients through  the  use  of  semi-hypnotic  methods,  these  things 
dwarf  the  personality  and  belittle  the  man,  these  things  bring 
about  few  if  any  results  of  real  and  permanent  value.  It  is 
from  the  recruits  of  these  hypnotic  methods  that  the  subsequent 
*'  back-sliders  "  come.^^  On  the  other  hand,  a  revival  adds  to 
the  values  of  life  when  it  emphasizes  the  positive  things,  leaving 
the  individual  in  full  command  of  his  reason  and  free  to  choose 
and  to  act,  but  giving  him  new  insights  and  wider  glimpses  of 
the  truth,  opening  up  to  him  undrcamed-of  worlds  of  possible 
experience,  revelations  of  new  value,  arousing  in  him  larger 
inspirations,  purer  emotions,  and  higher  aspirations  and  ideals. 
These  things  cannot  be  given  by  the  methods  of  hypnotic  sug- 
gestion and  emotionalism.  But  neither  are  they  to  be  brought 
about  by  conventional  morality  or  "  cold "  logic.  And  the 
church  which  understands  human  psychology  and  wishes  for 
lasting  results,  will  both  refrain  from  the  methods  of  the  re- 
ligious hypnotist  and  also  make  some  special  efforts  to  obtain 
"  seasons  of  refreshment  from  the  hand  of  the  Lord." 

B3  See  Starbuok's  comparison  of  the  permanence  of  conversions  made  dur- 
ing revivals  and  of  those  independent  of  them  —  op.  cit.,  p.  170. 


CHAPTEK  X 

THE  BELIEF  IN  A  GOD 

Probably  the  three  most  important  phenomena  in  the  re- 
ligion of  average  men  and  women  are  communal  worship,  pri- 
vate prayer,  and  belief  or  faith.  It  is  pretty  evident  that  all 
of  these  must  have  originated  and  developed  together,  inasmuch 
as  each  of  them  may  almost  be  said  to  presuppose  the  other. 
There  could  be  no  religious  cult  unless  there  were  some  implicit 
though  vague  belief  on  the  part  of  the  participants ;  and  every 
serious  and  genuine  form  of  religious  belief  among  primitive 
peoples  must  almost  certainly  have  worked  itself  out  into  some 
sort  of  expression  —  an  expression  which,  from  all  that  we  know 
of  early  religions,  seems  pretty  surely  to  have  been  some  form 
of  communal  cult.  Cult  and  belief,  moreover,  through  all  their 
development  have  been  mutually  influencing  each  other,  so  that 
one  who  should  attempt  to  write  a  history  of  the  two  would 
seem  to  be  under  obligation  to  describe  both  at  once.  This  of 
course  is  hardly  possible,  and  in  fact  the  tendency  of  very  many 
writers  on  this  subject  is  to  neglect  the  fact  of  the  common 
birth  and  parallel  development  of  cult  and  belief,  and  to  make 
one  of  them  fundamental  and  the  other  derivative.  Up  till 
fairly  recent  times  it  was  belief  that  was  usually  made  primary, 
cult  being  regarded  as  merely  its  expression.  During  the  last 
few  years,  however,  the  trend  has  been  all  the  other  way. 
Primitive  societies  performed  certain  rites  in  common  —  this 
is  the  more  recent  doctrine  —  and  as  a  result  beliefs  arose  to 
interpret  the  rites.  While  so  extreme  a  position  seems  to  me 
quite  unjustified  by  either  anthropology  or  psychology,  it  is, 
perhaps,  a  needed  antidote  to  the  older  view  which  saw  in  primi- 
tive men  lonely  theologians;  and  certainly  there  is  this  much 
of  truth  in  the  newer  conception,  namely  that  perfectly  definite 
cult  did  probably  precede  definite  and  explicit  religious  belief. 
For  this  reason  I  should  have  preferred  to  treat  communal  wor- 
ship before  religious  belief.     For  purposes  of  exposition,  how- 

195 


196  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

ever,  there  are  certain  advantages  in  treating  belief  first;  and 
since  the  two  are  really  twins  it  makes  little  difference  which  is 
first  described.  Especially  is  this  true  for  us,  since  our  ques- 
tion is  not  the  anthropological  one:  How  did  religious  belief 
originate;  but  rather  the  psychological  question:  Why  does  it 
continue,  and  what  is  its  nature  as  a  mental  phenomenon  ?  —  It 
is  to  these  questions  that  the  present  chapter  is  to  be  directed. 

And  first  of  all  we  must  consider  briefly  the  nature  of  belief 
as  such.  That  this  question  has  certain  initial  diflSculties  was 
made  evident  by  some  of  the  earliest  psychologists  who  under- 
took to  answer  it.  St.  Thomas  defines  belief  thus,  "  Credere 
est  cum  assensu  cogitare."  ^  This  is  admirable  as  far  as  it 
goes:  but  it  is  unsatisfactory  as  a  complete  definition  both  be- 
cause of  the  peculiar  distinction  which  the  learned  saint  makes 
between  belief  and  knowledge,  and  also  because  of  the  lack  of 
any  psychological  analysis  of  assent.  Some  advance  is  made 
by  David  Hume  who  points  out  in  his  Treatise,  that  "  the  idea 
of  an  object  is  an  essential  part  of  the  belief  of  it  but  not  the 
whole.  We  conceive  many  things  which  we  do  not  believe.  .  .  . 
'Tis  evident  that  the  idea  of  existence  is  nothing  difFerent  from 
the  idea  of  any  object,  and  that  when  after  the  simple  concep- 
tion of  anything  we  would  conceive  it  as  existent  w^e  in  reality 
make  no  addition  to  or  alteration  on  our  first  idea.  .  .  .  WTien 
I  think  of  God,  when  I  think  of  him  as  existent,  and  when  I  be- 
lieve him  to  be  existent,  my  idea  of  him  neither  increases  nor 
diminishes.  But  as  'tis  certain  there  is  a  great  difference  be- 
twixt the  simple  conception  of  the  existence  of  an  object  and 
the  belief  of  it,  and  as  this  difference  lies  not  in  the  parts  or 
composition  of  the  idea  which  we  conceive ;  it  follows  that  it 
must  lie  in  the  manner  in  which  we  conceive  it." 

So  far  Hume's  analysis  seems  persuasive  enough :  belief 
differs  from  mere  ideation  "  in  the  manner  in  which  we  con- 
ceive "  our  object.  But  it  is  hard  to  be  completely  satisfied  with 
Hume's  description  of  what  this  "  manner  "  is.  "  Our  ideas,'' 
he  tells  us,  "  are  copy'd  from  impressions  [i.  e.  sense  percep- 
tions] and  represent  them  in  all  their  parts.  When  you  wou'd 
any  way  vary  the  idea  of  a  particular  object,  you  can  only 

1 "  Summa  Theologiae,"  Part  II,  II.     Quest.  II,  Art.  I. 


THE  BELIEF  IN  A  GOD  197 

increase  or  diminisli  its  force  and  vivacity.  If  you  make  any 
other  change  on  it,  it  represents  a  different  object  or  impres- 
sion. ...  As  belief  does  nothing  but  vary  the  manner  in  which 
we  conceive  any  object,  it  can  only  bestow  on  our  ideas  an  ad- 
ditional force  and  vivacity.  An  opinion,  therefore,  or  belief 
might  be  most  accurately  defined,  A  lively  idea  related  to  or 
associated  with  a  present  impression/'  Or,  as  Hume  defines  it 
again  in  a  foot-note,  belief  is  ^^  only  a  strong  and  steady  con- 
ception of  any  idea,  and  such  as  approaches  in  some  measure 
to  an  immediate  impression."  ^ 

Surely  there  is  more  in  belief  than  this.  And  yet  the  ele- 
ment in  belief  which  Hume  has  singled  out  is  deserving  of  great 
emphasis.  Sense  perception  is  the  stronghold  and  the  ultimate 
source  of  reality  feeling.  Our  earliest  beliefs  all  come  from  it 
—  in  some  sense  all  our  beliefs  do  —  and  our  most  highly 
wrought  and  sophisticated  propositions  about  the  real  seek  in- 
forcement  and  demonstration  by  some  indirect  relation  to  sen- 
suous experience.  In  the  last  analysis  nothing  else  brings  about 
the  "  sentiment  of  conviction  "  quite  so  easily  or  nearly  so  uni- 
versally as  actual  presence  to  sense.  "  To  see  is  to  believe  " ; 
and  the  tangible  is  often  considered  very  nearly  synonymous 
with  the  unmistakably  real.  At  every  remove  from  sense  per- 
ception our  representations  enjoy  less  and  less  of  reality  feeling. 
A  memory  image  feels  to  us  more  real  and  inspires  us  with 
more  unquestioning  belief  than  does  a  mere  imagination;  and 
other  things  being  equal  imagination  more  easily  produces  be- 
lief than  does  conception,  while  between  several  imagined  ob- 
jects the  most  vivid  (and  therefore  the  most  akin  to  sensation) 
will  seem  the  more  real.  It  is  extremely  difficult  for  us  to  be- 
lieve strongly  in  anything  which  we  can  in  no  wise  imagine. 

Yet,  true  as  all  this  is,  it  is  not  the  whole  story.  A  very 
vivid  imagination  may  often  fail  to  arouse  the  belief  which 
(especially  among  us  sophisticated  moderns)  some  abstract  con- 
cept may  inspire.  At  times,  in  fact,  even  a  sense  percep- 
tion may  fail  to  bring  with  it  full  reality  feeling  or  belief. 
This  is  seen  in  many  cases  of  illusion,  particularly  of  the  audi- 
tory type.  The  voice  of  a  friend  whom  we  know  to  be  absent 
we  interpret  away  as  purely  "  subjective  "  —  we  persuade  our- 

2  "  A  Treatise  of  Human  Nature,"  Book  I,  Part  III,  Chap.  7. 


198  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

selves  that  we  didn't  really  hear  it  after  all.  Even  a  visual 
illusion  will  fail  to  dominate  our  belief  as  soon  as  we  have 
discovered  that  it  does  not  fit  in  with  the  rest  of  our  visual  field 
and  particularly  if  it  be  inconsistent  with  our  tactual  world. 
We  test  sight  by  touch,  and  if  the  visual  object  is  not  congruous 
with  the  tangible  we  put  it  down  as  subjective  and  unreal.  But 
not  even  the  touch  sense  is  altogether  beyond  criticism.  An 
isolated  tactual  experience  if  incongruous  with  the  rest  of  our 
perceptual  system  will  be  judged  illusory.^  It  is  evident,  there- 
fore, that  congruity  with  our  already  accepted  perceptual  world 
is  prerequisite  to  our  belief  in  the  reality  of  even  a  sensuous  ob- 
ject. And  this  characteristic  of  congruity  with  the  great  mass 
of  our  already  accepted  reality  is,  of  course,  no  less  a  condition 
of  our  belief  in  images  and  concepts  as  truly  representative  of 
the  real.  Other  things  being  equal,  vividness  of  imagination 
is  more  likely  to  bring  with  it  reality  feeling  than  is  an  abstract 
concept;  but  other  things  are  not  always  equal.  And  as  men 
grow  more  sophisticated  and  come  to  think  more  in  general 
and  abstract  terms,  the  world  they  really  live  in  becomes 
increasingly  one  of  concepts ;  so  that  congruity  with  an  accepted 
conceptual  system  gains  enormously  in  importance  in  deter- 
mining belief.  As  a  correlate  of  this  process,  sense  percep- 
tion and  vividness  of  imagerv  steadilv  lose  in  relative  im- 
portance.  The  conceptual  thinker  has  learned  to  believe  in 
many  things  which  he  can  neither  perceive  nor  vividly  picture. 
We  children  of  modem  civilization  are  brought  up  to  feel  our- 
selves surrounded  by  and  living  in  a  certain  kind  of  world 
which  transcends  our  immediate  sense  perceptions  and  in  fact 
all  our  possible  sense  perceptions  but  which  we  consider  quite 
as  real  as  they.  Our  real  world  —  the  world  we  think  about 
and  act  in  —  is  largely  one  of  representations  and  concepts.  If, 
now,  a  new  concept  or  image  is  proposed  and  set  up  within  our 
conceptual  world  and  fails  to  harmonize  and  fit  in  with  it,  it 
will  lack  reality  feeling  and  fail  to  arouse  our  belief.  Our 
sense  of  its  incongruity  with  the  whole  background  of  our  ac- 

3  Cf .  the  seemingly  enormous  size  of  a  new  tooth  cavity  explored  for  the 
first  time  by  the  tonorue;  the  illusion  (first  noted  by  Aristotle)  of  the 
duality  of  an  object  placed  between  the  first  and  the  second  fingers  when 
they  are  crossed;  or,  for  that  matter,  almost  any  of  the  stock  tactual  illu- 
sions of  psychology. 


THE  BELIEF  11^  A  GOD  199 

cepted  reality  will  not  so  mucli  prove  it  unreal  as  in  truth  he 
the  very  feeling  of  its  unreality.  We  may  be  perfectly  able  to 
imagine  it,  and  as  vividly  as  you  like.  Indeed,  if  for  a  moment 
we  succeed  in  isolating  it  from  our  accepted  world  this  vividness 
will  bring  with  it  for  the  time  the  sense  of  reality.  Some 
people  have  partitions  in  their  minds,  so  to  speak,  and  are  able 
to  isolate  certain  systems  of  ideas  from  others,  so  that  though 
really  incongruous  they  are  never  felt  to  be  such.  But  once 
the  incongruity  is  felt,  the  sense  of  reality  oozes  out  from  the 
less  massive  of  the  two  systems.  The  vividness  of  the  lesser 
image  may  still  remain,  but  we  can  no  longer  believe  it  truly 
representative  of  the  real.  'Nor  can  argument  in  favor  of  an 
incongruous  concept,  any  more  than  vividness,  produce  the  sense 
of  reality, —  unless,  indeed,  it  succeed  in  revolutionizing  our 
whole  system  of  accepted  truth.  Unless  this  be  done,  or  un- 
less the  proposed  object  be  shown,  after  all,  to  be  quite  congru- 
ous with  our  universe,  arguments  will  be  vain.  We  may  be 
silenced  by  the  arguments  but  in  two  minutes  we  shall  go  back 
to  our  old  view,  because  the  whole  of  our  conceptual  real  world 
fights  against  the  new-comer.  Berkeley  may  answer  all  our 
criticisms  of  his  idealism  which  fits  in  so  ill  vdth  our  instinc- 
tive beliefs ;  but,  as  Hume  said,  his  exposition  will  be  really 
quite  as  unpersuasive  as  it  is  unanswerable.  The  trained 
scholastic,  if  you  are  so  ill-advised  as  to  enter  into  argument 
with  him,  will  break  down  all  your  miserable  modern  criticisms 
of  St.  Thomas  and  will  prove  to  you  logically  the  existence 
of  all  his  mediaeval  entities.  You  remain  speechless  —  and  un- 
convinced. For  his  entities,  no  matter  how  logical,  will  not  fit 
in  with  our  modern  view,  and  in  spite  of  logic  we  can  no  longer 
get  from  them  any  sense  of  reality. 

And  now,  if  the  reader's  patience  be  not  exhausted,  we  come 
at  last  to  the  question  of  religious  belief.  The  objects  of  re- 
ligious belief  are,  as  every  one  knows,  as  numerous  as  the  choir 
of  heaven  and  the  furniture  of  earth  and  it  would  be  a  hopeless 
task  to  undertake  even  an  inventory  of  them.  But  there  are 
two  great  objects  of  faith  which  stand  out  with  such  promi- 
nence above  all  others  in  the  long  history  of  religion  that  no 
keenness  of  analysis  is  needed  to  bring  them  to  light  nor  any  per- 
suasiveness required  to  prove  their  importance.     I  refer  to  the 


200  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

belief  in  a  God  and  the  belief  in  a  future  life.  These  two  great 
dopnas  of  religion  will  occupy  us  in  this  and  in  the  following 
chapter. 

Wv  are  not  at  all  concerned,  let  me  remind  the  reader,  with 
the  oriirin  of  the  belief  in  a  God  or  gods.  That  w^e  leave  to 
the  anthropologists  and  the  historians,  not  to  mention  the  the- 
ologians, the  sociologists,  and  the  philologists.  Our  questions 
are  the  less  speculative  and  more  hopeful  ones,  Why  do  people 
continue  to  believe  in  God,  and  what  are  the  psychological  fac- 
tors that  influence  or  determine  the  meaning  of  that  term? 

I  am  inclined  to  think  the  second  of  our  questions  the  more 
difficult  of  the  two.  It  w^ould  indeed  be  easy  enough  to  col- 
lect from  the  creeds  of  Christendom  and  the  dogmatic  theologies 
of  the  theologians  and  from  the  sermons  of  the  clergy  many 
clear-cut  and  elaborate  definitions  of  the  deitv ;  but  no  one  can 
for  a  moment  suppose  that  these  represent  with  any  accuracy 
the  living  conviction  of  the  mass  of  Christian  people.  Such 
definitions  are  almost  invariably  forms  of  words  put  together 
for  the  purpose  of  answering  questions.  They  have  a  proper 
and  important  place  in  theology  and  philosophy;  they  may  ex- 
press what  we  ought  to  believe;  they  have  their  influence,  no 
doubt,  on  what  we  do  believe ;  but  most  of  them  are  very  far 
from  expressing  what  God  really  means  to  us  in  our  inner  and 
practical  living.  Their  chief  fault  as  representations  of  actual 
belief  is,  in  fact,  their  verv  definiteness.'*  The  notion  of  God 
which  most  religious  men  and  women  carry  around  with  them 
when  not  repeating  the  Creed,  is  far  less  clear-cut  than  are 
the  definitions  of  the  theologians.  At  a  prayer  meeting  in  a 
small  village  not  far  from  where  I  live,  the  pastor  asked  those 
present  to  describe  their  idea  of  God.  One  good  and  very 
candid  deacon,  when  it  came  his  turn,  responded  that  his  idea 
of  God  was  "  a  kind  of  an  oblong  blur.'^  The  answer  probably 
represented  fairly  well  the  state  of  mind  of  most  of  his  less 
candid  neighbors. 

The  influences  determining  the  idea  of  God  as  actually  held 
by  living  individuals  are  sociological  and  psychological  as  well 

*  This  is,  of  course,  no  criticism  of  the  credal  and  theological  definitions, 
for  they  were  never  meant  as  descriptions  of  what  most  Christians  really 
have  in  their  minds,  but  of  what  the  formulators  conceived  God  to  be. 


THE  BELIEF  I:N"  A  GOD  201 

as  logical.  The  great  general  sociological  influence  —  and  in- 
deed the  greatest  of  all  influences  —  in  determining  the  form  of 
the  belief  is  of  course  the  traditional  view  of  the  society  into 
which  one  is  born.  More  specifically,  as  was  pointed  out  long 
ago  by  Robertson  Smith,  the  social  and  political  organization 
does  much  to  determine  the  idea  of  God  held  by  the  members 
of  the  social  group.^  Monarchical  societies  are  likely  to  have 
monarchical  gods  —  a  fact  shown  plainly  by  ancient  history, 
and  indeed  amply  illustrated  by  der  alte  Gott  of  some  of  our 
recently  monarchical  contemporaries.  Ames  has  suggested  that 
democratic  institutions  have  an  equally  strong  influence  on  the 
God-idea,  making  it  practically  equivalent  to  the  conception  of 
a  kind  of  imminent  justice.^  Moreover,  the  social  factor  in 
worship  is  itself  an  influence  toward  making  the  idea  of  God 
anthropomorphic.  The  abstract  God  of  the  philosophers  —  the 
great  Eirst  Cause,  the  Absolute,  the  Unknowable  or  what  you 
will  —  may  well  enough  be  the  cherished  belief  of  the  lonely 
thinker,  but  it  can  hardly  be  the  common  object  of  all  sorts  and 
conditions  of  men  brought  together  for  common  worship.  In- 
asmuch as  the  God  who  is  to  be  worshiped  by  the  community 
must  be  expressed  in  common  terms.  He  necessarily  comes  to 
be  described  anthropomorphically.  This  description  may  be 
regarded  by  thinkers  as  symbolic,  but  hardly  so  by  the  rank 
and  file;  and  since  this  symbolic  expression  is  the  only  thing 
all  the  members  of  the  group  have  in  common,  it  comes  to  be 
considered  sacred  and  hence  tends  to  be  taken  with  unchanging 
literalness.'^ 

5Cf.  "The  Religion  of  the  Semites"  (Sd  Ed.  London,  Black:  1901), 
Lecture  11. 

6  "  The  Psychology  of  Religious  Experience,"  p.  312. 

7  An  influence  which  may  be  considered  in  part  sociological,  in  part  psy- 
chological, is  the  effect  of  the  cult  in  formulating  belief.  The  very  activity 
of  the  cult  puts  the  worshiper  into  a  certain  attitude  toward  the  deity, 
and  he  naturally,  therefore,  finds  himself  entertaining  certain  views  which 
are  none  the  less  real  because  implicit  only.  In  one  of  his  typically  clever 
illustrations,  Professor  Royce  suggests  that  if  the  pigeons  which  we  feed 
were  to  formulate  their  ideas  after  the  fashion  actually  used  by  primitive 
men,  they  would  express  themselves  concerning  the  man  who  feeds  them 
somewhat  as  follows:  "  Behold  do  we  not  cluster  about  him  and  beg  from 
him,  and  coo  to  him;  and  do  we  not  get  our  food  by  doing  thus?  He  is, 
then,  a  being  whom  it  is  essentially  worth  while  to  treat  in  this  way.  He 
responds  to  our  cooing  and  our  clustering.     Thus  we  compel  him  to  feed  us. 


202  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

There  are  psychological  as  well  as  social  influences  at  work 
tending  toward  anthropomorphic  ideas  of  God.     Probably  the 
greatest  of  these  is  the  important  place  in  belief  held  by  the 
senses  and  the  imagination.     As  we  saw  in  the  earlier  part  of 
this  chapter,  sense  perception  and  vivid  imagination  are  influen- 
tial factors  in  most  strong  popular  beliefs.     In  nearly  all  re- 
ligions the  idea  of  God  is  inculcated  and  enforced  for  each  rising 
generation    by    means    of    actual    sensuous    representations  — 
images,  pictures  etc.  —  or  by  vivid  descriptions  in  which  the 
appearance  or  activity  of  the  Most  High  is  presented  in  sensu- 
ous terms.     Judaism  and  Mohammedanism  forbid  the  use  of 
pictures  and  images ;  but  the  Old  Testament  and  the  Koran 
are  full  of  verbal  pictures  which  make  Jehovah  and  Allah  almost 
as  capable  of  visualization  as  is  Shiva  or  Jupiter.     For  many 
centuries  the  anthropomorphic  tendency  of  the  mind  had  pretty 
full  sway  —  as,  indeed,  it  still  has  with  a  large  number  of  peo- 
ple.    But  as  men  come  to  live  more  and  more  in  a  conceptual 
world,  they  feel  the  necessity  of  a  less  anthropomorphic  and  a 
more  abstract  God-idea,  pictured  no  longer  according  to  tradi- 
tion alone  but  largely  influenced  by  what  the  individual  happens 
to  know  and  accept  from  science  and  philosophy.     It  might  be 
supposed  that  when  this  new  idea  is  formed,  the  older  picture  — 
so  inconsistent  with   it  and  with  the  common  modern   Welt- 
anschauung —  would    lose    all    its    reality-feeling    and    fade 
into  the  realm  of  Santa  Claus  and  Jack  Frost.     So  indeed  it 
does  with  some,  and  so  it  would  with  all  if  the  logical  incon- 
gruity were  universally  and  invariably  felt.     But,  as  I  have 
pointed  out  in  a  previous  connection,  many  people  —  probably 
most    people  —  have    water-tight    compartments    within    their 
minds,  and  are  able  to  retain  as  genuinely  real  two  inconsistent 
systems  of  ideas,  going  from  one  to  the  other  almost  at  will  and 
carefully  shutting  the  door  behind  them.     Hence  we  shall  find 
in  many  people,   and,   as  I  believe,  in  a  great  many  people, 
two  inconsistent  and  alternating  ideas  of  God,  each  dominating 
consciousness   in  its  turn  according  to  the  varying  demands 

Therefore  he  is  a  worshipful  being.  And  this  is  what  we  mean  by  a  god; 
namely,  some  one  whom  it  is  practically  useful  to  conciliate  and  compel  by 
such  forms  of  worship  as  we  practice."  ("William  James  and  Other  Es- 
says."    New  York,  Macmillan:   1911,  pp.  105-106.) 


THE  BELIEF  IN  A  GOD  203 

of  action,  emotion,  and  thought.^  Consider,  for  example,  the 
following  typical  responses  reported  by  V.  R.  Robinson  in  the 
Journal  of  Religious  Psychology  for  November,  1908 : 

"  God  is  a  presence  daily  near,  yet  always  where  reason  comes 
in  far  away  beyond  reach."  Another  defines  God  as  personal 
and  then  adds :  "  In  melancholy  moments  when  I  think  hard- 
est, God  loses  all  personality  and  becomes  an  indefinite  force.'' 
A  third  describes  her  two  conceptions  of  God  as  (1)  an  imper- 
sonal Being  arrived  at  logically  and  (2)  a  person,  "  the  God  to 
whom  I  go  for  help.''  Another  writes :  "  Ordinarily  the  image  of 
God  is  gray  and  formless.  In  prayer,  the  face  of  Dore's  Christ, 
which  does  not  speak  but  prompts  something  in  me  to  words."  * 

This  dual  God-idea  —  imaginative  and  conceptual  —  is  prob- 
ably to  be  found  to  some  extent  in  almost  every  one  who  can 
be  said  to  have  any  God  at  all.-^^     In  different  individuals,  how- 

8  Professor  Leuba  sums  up  his  results  from  the  responses  of  nine  hun- 
dred and  thirty  college  students  thus :  "  Two-thirds  of  the  men,  and 
nearly  half  of  the  women  disclaim  any  mental  picture  of  God.  The  larger 
number  of  the  remainder  distinguish  between  image  or  symbol,  and  reality. 
In  a  remarkably  large  number  of  cases,  however,  a  description  in  sensory 
terms  is  held  to  represent  God  adequately.  That  young  people  having 
reached  the  mental  development  of  college  students  should  think  of  God 
as  '  actual  skin  and  blood  and  bones,  something  we  shall  see  with  our  eyea 
some  day,'  is  almost  incredible;  but  the  evidence  is  compelling.  Seven  per 
cent,  hold  apparently  to  a  thoroughly  anthropomorphic  conception  of  God." 
("The  Belief  in  God  and  Immortality."  Boston,  Sherman,  French:  1916, 
pp.  205-06.)  The  college  students  investigated  by  Professor  Drake  (from 
Harvard,  Illinois,  and  Wesleyan)  were  not  so  naive  in  their  conceptions. 
Although  all  but  four  of  the  total  249  who  responded  to  his  questionnaire 
believed  in  God,  less  than  35  per  cent,  felt  assured  that  God  was  a  con- 
scious person.  ("The  College  Graduate  and  the  Creeds,"  Independent  for 
Sept.  25,  1913,  pp.  755-58.)  A  survey  of  various  views  on  the  nature  of 
God  as  expounded  by  recent  writers  will  be  found  in  Professor  Drake's 
paper:     "Seekers  After  God."      [Harvard  Theol.  Rev.,  XII,  67-83.) 

9  "  The  Conception  of  God  of  College  Students,"  loc.  cit.,  pp.  247-57.  The 
author  adds :  "  Frequently  the  student  has  not  thought  about  the  matter 
sufficiently  to  be  aware  of  the  contradiction  in  his  ideas.  It  is  not  uncom- 
mon to  find  God  imaged  as  a  King  in  Heaven  with  bodily  form,  yet  when  use 
is  made  of  him  he  is  described  as  '  near  me.'  Let  me  insist  upon  the  fact 
that  where  there  is  a  contradiction  in  the  concept,  whether  or  not  it  la 
observed  by  the  student,  it  seems  a  matter  of  little  concern.  There  is  sel- 
dom any  attempt  to  reconcile  the  two  vie'.vs  or  to  decide  which  is  the 
true  one"  (p.  249). 

10  In  Mahayana  Buddhism  it  is,  in  fact,  explicitly  provided  for,  in  the 
contrast  between  the  Dharmakaya  and  the  Sambhogakaya  —  the  two  forms 
under  which  the  Supreme  Buddha  may  properly  be  thought. 


204  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

ever,  the  relative  importance  of  the  two  factors  will  vary.  This 
variation,  moreover  will  hold  true  of  fhe  same  individual  at 
different  ages,  the  imagination  decreasing  in  relative  import- 
ance with  maturing  years.  Different  sects,  different  religions, 
and  different  races  also  lay  different  degrees  of  emphasis  upon 
imagination  and  conception  in  their  ideas  of  God.^^ 

A  little  more  must  be  said  of  the  conceptual  element  of  the 
God-idea.  Having  warned  the  reader  (quite  unnecessarily  I 
am  sure)  against  over-emphasizing  this  definite  and  rational 
part  of  religious  belief,  I  feel  it  equally  important  to  warn 
him  against  underestimating  it.  Seldom,  probably  never,  does 
it  constitute  tlie  entirety  of  any  religious  man's  idea  of  God ; 
yet  it  does  contribute  and  for  thousands  of  years  has  contributed 
a  very  important  part  of  that  idea.  If  the  history  of  religions 
can  be  trusted  to  teach  us  an^^thing  at  all  upon  the  subject,  it 
shows  clearly  that  the  development  of  rational  thought,  seeking 
to  make  its  world  consistent  and  to  avoid  the  consciously  in- 
congruous, has  played  a  more  important  role  than  any  other 
one  thing  in  making  older  ideas  of  God  incredible  and  in  de- 
veloping new  and  genuinely  vital  beliefs.  The  whole  story  of 
the  development  of  monotheism  and  the  growth  of  the  moral 
conception  of  the  deity  has  been  largely  determined  by  a  kind 
of  implicit  logic, —  a  sense  of  dissatisfaction  with  the  incongru- 
ous.^^    The  ideas  of  God  cherished  to-day  by  the  majority  of 

11  This  is  a  point  well  brought  out  by  Professor  Stratton.  "The  serious 
imagery  of  Protestant  Christianity  is  far  less  rich  and  vivid  than  that  of 
the  Roman  Church.  The  Catholic  Church,  the  patron  of  art  and  the  imag- 
ination, has  found  little  toleration  for  its  images  either  physical  or  mental 
among  the  colder  minds  of  the  north,  which  from  early  times  seem  to 
have  had  distrust  of  too  definite  representations  of  the  gods.  .  .  .  The 
freedom  of  the  imagination,  so  characteristic  of  childhood  and  of  youth, 
may  continue  into  later  years.  But  with  maturity  the  fabric  of  the  imag- 
ination often  ceases  to  interest,  and  falls  into  decay.  .  .  .  And  so  religion 
as  it  grows  to  be  a  zeal  for  good  works  to  one's  fellows,  or  for  emotional 
submission  and  awe  before  the  gods,  or  for  an  intellectual  grasp  of  the 
divine  and  a  rational  justification  of  God's  ways  to  men  —  as  it  develops 
thus,  there  appears  a  reticence,  a  hemming-in  of  the  pictorial  representa- 
tion of  the  central  objects  of  worship."  ("  The  Psychology  of  the  Religious 
Life."  London,  Allen  &  Co.:  1011,  pp.  225  and  226.)  See  also  the  excel- 
lent twenty-third  chapter  on  "  The  Idealizing  Act." 

12  Cf.  Chapters  IIL  IV,  and  V  of  my  "Psychology  of  Religious  Belief." 
While  the  influence  of  reason  in  religious  belief  has  usually  favored  mo- 
notheism, this  is  not  always  the  case.     In  the  Hihhert  Journal  for  October, 


THE  BELIEF  IN  A  GOD  205 

intelligent  Christians  are  more  indebted  than  is,  perhaps,  gener- 
ally realized  to  Aristotle,  Spinoza,  Kant,  and  Darwin.  This 
is  not  to  say,  however,  that  the  rationalistic  element  is  itself  a 
unitary  influence.  In  minds  of  different  sorts  —  and  within 
the  same  mind  under  different  circumstances  —  it  leads  in  very 
diverse  directions.  Two  tendencies  in  particular  stand  out  with 
marked  prominence  as  one  views  the  development  of  religious 
thought  in  history  and  within  our  own  generation.  Both  these 
tendencies  are  characterized  by  the  search  for  congruity,  but  one 
is  dominated  by  a  partly  rational,  chiefly  aesthetic  desire  for  a 
monistic  conception  and  finds  satisfaction  only  in  an  all-inclu- 
sive Absolute ;  the  other  is  guided  by  a  demand  that  the  divine 
shall  be  congruous  with  our  moral  sense,  and  therefore  finds 
the  Absolute  essentially  unsatisfying  as  a  God-idea. 

The  imaginative  and  the  conceptual  elements  of  most  men's 
idea  of  God  may  dodge  each  other  within  the  mind,  each  com- 
ing to  the  center  of  attention  only  at  the  call  of  certain  condi- 
tions, and  thus  the  incongruity  between  them  may  never  be 
deeply  felt.  When  the  incongruity  is  squarely  faced  an  effort 
is  sometimes  made  to  throw  off  one  of  the  two  views,  and  per- 
haps more  often  the  attempt  is  made  to  retain  both  and  regard 
one  as  symbolic  of  the  other. ^^  The  symbol  acts  in  two  ways. 
It  makes  one's  belief  more  concrete  and  thereby  more  vivid, 
comforting,  and  efficient.  It  also  has  a  peculiar  psychical  effect, 
which  religion  has  always  loved,  in  suggesting  the  indefinable, 
the  illimitable,  the  ineffable.  It  acts  upon  the  inner  vision 
in  a  way  analogous  to  that  in  which  the  rich  and  storied  win- 
dows of  a  cathedral  effect  the  outer  sense,  bathing  the  mind  in  a 
kind  of  dim  religious  light.  Even  non-religious  symbolism  has 
much  of  this  half-magical  influence.     The  reader  of  Tagore's 

1912,  the  reader  will  find  an  elaborate  argument  by  a  native  Fijian  Chris- 
tian, to  prove  that  the  decrease  of  the  birth-rate  in  Fiji  is  due  to  the  neg- 
lect of  the  ancient  gods  of  the  land  and  the  substitution  of  the  One  God  of 
Christianity.  The  same  type  of  argument  was  used  by  the  Jews  of  the  Old 
Testament  as  late  as  586  b.  c.  against  the  exclusive  worship  of  Yahveh. 
See  Jeremiah  44. 

13  Cf .  Robinson's  results.  "  Usually  the  student  distinguishes  between 
reality  and  image,  and  states  that  the  image  probably  does  not  correctly 
represent  reality.  Of  the  cases  quoted  above  only  ten  seem  to  think  that 
the  image  corresponds  to  reality,  for  the  rest  it  is  merely  a  convenient 
symbol."     Op.  cit.,  p.  250. 


206  THE  KELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

Gitanjali  and  Fruit  Gathering,  of  Ilaiiptmann's  Versimkene 
Glocke,  and  of  other  poems  of  the  same  indefinite  symbolic  sort, 
closes  the  book  with  the  feeling  that  unutterable  thoughts  have 
been  dimly  adumbrated  to  him,  though  just  what  thoughts  he 
cannot  tell ;  and  if  he  be  not  provoked  at  the  author  for  his  lack 
of  clarity  he  will  be  likely  to  feel  a  strong  emotion  half  way 
between  the  aesthetic  and  the  religious.  The  really  great  power 
of  Tagore's  "  King  of  the  Dark  Chamber  "  is  due  entirely  to 
the  s^Tnbolic  form  in  which  he  has  half  expressed  yet  half  con- 
cealed India's  noble  conception  of  the  relation  d^  God  to  the 
soul.  He  who  has  overlooked  the  tremendous  emotional  power 
of  the  symbolic  expression  of  a  religious  truth  has  failed  to  un- 
derstand much  of  the  hold  that  religion  has  over  a  very  large 
number  of  the  men  and  women  round  about  him. 

But  not  only  may  the  imaginative  be  regarded  as  symbolic 
of  the  conceptual ;  the  concept  itself  —  the  credal  definition,  the 
exact  theological  exposition  —  may  be  held  by  a  certain  com- 
plex type  of  mind  as  itself  only  a  symbol  —  a  symbol  of  a 
Reality  too  great  ever  to  be  truly  expressed  in  any  form  of 
words.  A  friend  of  mine,  a  Catholic  priest,  writes  me  thus: 
.  .  .  .  "  You  see  what  I  think  about  dogmas.  They  are  a  kind 
of  intellectual  sacrament  —  that  is  intellectual  and  imaginative 
signs  of  realities  that  are  supra-intellectually  cognized  by  the 
deep,  dim,  intuitive  apprehension  of  faith ;  and  they  well  may 
be  called  a  kind  of  sacrament,  for  they  are  effectual  signs  — 
that  is  they  tend  to  generate  or  elicit  in  the  mind  which  recep- 
tively apprehends  them  that  very  vision  of  faith  which  they  so 
inadequately  express  and  attempt  to  communicate." 

Here,  surely,  is  a  most  important  point.  The  dogma  as  well 
as  the  pictorial  representation  is  of  value  to  the  religious  mind 
largely  (though  not  entirely)  because  it  "  generates  a  vision  of 
faith,"  because  it  arouses  a  certain  emotion  and  satisfies  a  cer- 
tain demand  of  the  heart.  The  God-idea  which  most  persons 
carry  around  with  them  and  live  by  is  to  be  described  not  only 
in  terms  of  imagination  and  conception  but  in  terms  of  human 
need.  The  dominant  feature  in  most  religious  people's  working 
idea  of  God  is  practical  rather  than  theoretical,  and  is  to  be 
found  not  in  what  God  is  conceived  to  he  but  in  what  He  is  relied 
upon  to  do.     On  the  basis  of  the  responses  to  his  questionnaire 


THE  BELIEF  I^^  A  GOD  207 

Mr.  Robinson  writes :  "  God  is  described  as  ^  directly  inter- 
ested in  me/  as  '  Friend,'  '  Comforter/  '  Sympathetic  Father.' 
It  is  in  this  class  of  attributes,  which  marks  not  the  nature  of 
God  himself,  but  his  relation  to  the  individual,  that  the  value  of 
the  religious  concept  lies."  ^'^  And  Professor  Leuba,  comment- 
ing upon  similar  responses  collected  by  him,  writes  in  an  oft- 
quoted  passage :  "  The  truth  of  the  matter  may  be  put  this 
way :  God  is  not  hnoivn.  He  is  not  understood ;  He  is  used  — 
used  a  good  deal  and  with  an  admirable  disregard  of  logical  con- 
sistency, sometimes  as  meat  purveyor,  sometimes  as  moral  sup- 
port, sometimes  as  friend,  sometimes  as  an  object  of  love."  -^^ 

That  the  idea  of  God  contains,  thus,  a  large  "  pragmatic  " 
element  is  indubitable.  And  in  this  it  is  by  no  means  unique. 
The  same  is  true  of  most  ideas.  My  notion  of  a  house  is  not 
exhausted  or  fully  described  when  I  have  detailed  its  visual  and 
geometrical  characteristics.  The  most  important  constituent  in 
my  idea  is  the  fact  that  a  house  is  a  place  to  live  in.  Very  cen- 
tral to  our  idea  of  anything  you  like  is  the  answer  to  the  ques- 
tion :  What  can  I  do  with  it  ?  or  what  may  I  expect  of  it  ?  As 
Royce  has  somewhere  said,  I  have  a  very  inadequate  notion  of 
a  lion  if  I  think  it  a  kind  of  beast  whom  I  can  pat  on  the  head, 
saying,  "  Nice  little  lion !  "  Similarly  there  is  no  vitally  re- 
ligious idea  of  God  which  does  not  include  to  some  extent  an 
answer  to  the  question,  What  may  I  expect  of  Him  ?  We  must 
surely  go  with  James  and  the  pragmatists  at  least  so  far  as  to 
say  that  the  meaning  of  "  God  "  is  to  be  found  largely  in  those 
consequences  in  our  experience  which  may  be  expected  if  God 
exist  which  could  not  be  looked  for  in  a  universe  without  Him. 

Our  idea  of  God  is  therefore  largely  the  result  of  our  practical 
demands  and  attitudes,  and  an  important  element  in  it  consists 
in  the  differences  within  human  experience  which  are  antici- 
pated because  of  it.  But  a  number  of  thinkers  who  seek  to  carry 
pragmatism  into  the  psychology  of  religion  go  so  far  as  to 
identify  the  idea  of  God  wholly  with  this  attitude  and  these 
expected  consequences.  "  The  highest  religious  conception,  that 
of  the  deity,"  writes  Dr.  Irving  King,  "  is  an  expression  of  per- 
sonal attitude  rather  than  a  statement  of  an  existence  of  some 

i*Op.  cit.,  p.  251. 

15  "  Contents  of  the  Religious  Consciousness."    Monist  XI,  571. 


208  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

vsort  wli it'll  may  reveal  itself  hy  varioiia  int(Ti)()lations  within  the 
natural  order  of  phenomena/'  ^*^  In  similar  prap:matic  vein 
i*rofessor  Ames  insists  that  the  difficulty  in  understanding  the 
idea  of  God  in  the  past  has  heen  due  to  the  fact  that  it  lias 
been  taken  out  of  relation  to  the  social  experiences  and  genetic 
processes  in  which  alone  it  has  meaning.  ''  Perhaps  the  case  is 
analogous  to  the  experience  of  a  child  who  looks  behind  the 
mirror  for  the  reality  answering  to  the  image  which  he  sees. 
Before  he  can  solve  the  puzzle  of  the  reflected  image  he  must 
seek  for  it  in  another  place  and  by  a  different  method.  The 
reality  to  which  the  image  leads  is  not  within  the  image  alone, 
as  phenomenism  might  say;  neither  is  it  behind  the  mirror 
as  the  realist  and  the  absolute  idealist  might  say,  but  it  lies 
on  this  side  of  the  mirror,  within  the  actual  world  of  men  and 
things.  The  idea  of  God,  when  seriously  employed,  serves  to 
generalize  and  to  idealize  all  the  values  one  knows.  .  .  .  The 
reality  answering  to  the  idea  of  God,  it  may  be  said,  must  in- 
clude, at  its  best,  all  that  is  involved  in  the  deep  instinctive 
historical  and  social  consciousness  of  the  race.  It  signifies  the 
justice  which  government  s^Tiibolizes,  the  truth  which  science 
unfolds,  and  the  beauty  which  art  strives  to  express.  The  at- 
tributes in  the  conception  of  God  are  as  numerous  as  the  ideal 
interests  of  those  who  use  it,  for  it  signifies  the  totality  of  our 
purposes  and  values.''  ^^ 

If  the  idea  of  God  be  what  Professor  Ames  has  here  described 

and  no  more,  the  religious  consciousness  should  welcome  his 

book  as  the  final  and  complete  refutation  of  all  possible  atheism. 

^  For  if  by  God  we  mean  merely  our  human  values  then  not  even 

the  fool  will  venture  any  longer  to  say  in  his  heart.  There  is  no 

God.     By  one  clever  stroke  of  pragmatic  logic  and  functional 

psychology  Professor  Ames  seems  to  have  accomplished  what 

all  the  long  line  of  philosophers  and  theologians  have  attempted 

^  I  in  vain.     But  I  fear  the  religious  reader  of  "  The  Psychology 

I  of  Religious  Experience  "  w^ill  find  cold  comfort  after  all  when 

I  he  learns  that  the  only  God  w^ho  exists  is  just  human  society^s 

I   longings  and  ideals  and  values,  and  that  He  cannot  even  mean 

anything  more  than  that.     And  even  after  Professor  Ames  and 

i«"The  Development  of  Relifjion,"  p.  12. 

17  "  The  Psychology  of  Religious  Experience,"  pp.  317-18. 


THE  BELIEF  IN  A  GOD  209 

Dr.  King  and  their  colleagues  have  made  use  of  all  the  appli- 
ances of  the  latest  structural  psychology  in  the  analysis  of  the 
God-idea  and  found  in  it  only  personal  and  social  attitude  and 
various  human  values,  the  religious  soul,  I  fear^  will  remain 
stupidly  unconvinced.  "  I  know,"  he  will  say,  "  what  I  mean 
by  the  justice  which  government  symbolizes,  the  truth  which 
science  unfolds,  and  the  beauty  which  art  strives  to  express. 
And  I  know  that  while  these  may  be  included  within  my  idea  of 
God,  I  mean  by  God  something  besides  these  things.  I  mean  by 
God  ^  an  existence  of  some  sort '  (in  spite  of  Dr.  King),  a  real 
Being  who  dwells  not  only  '  within  the  actual  world  of  men 
and  things,'  but,  if  you  will,  ^  behind  the  mirror.'  " 

I  feel  convinced  that  such  a  response  to  Professor  Ames  and 
his  school  would  be  quite  justified.  Important  as  is  the  prag- 
matic element  in  the  God-idea  it  is  not  the  onlv  element.  And 
the  attempt  to  prove  it  such  is  both  bad  psychology  and  bad 
epistemolog;\\  Bad  psychology  because  it  neglects  altogether 
certain  real  elements  in  the  religious  consciousness,  whether 
found  in  philosopher,  priest,  or  humble  worshiper, —  men  who 
through  all  the  ages  have  truly  meant  by  "  God  "  something 
more  than  the  idea  of  God,  something  genuinely  transcendent. 
Bad  epistemology  because  based  ultimately  upon  a  viciously  sub- 
jective view  of  meaning,  a  view  which  would  identify  our  ob- 
jects with  our  ideas  of  our  objects,  and  which,  carried  to  its 
logical  conclusion,  would  result  in  solipsism. ^^ 

So  much  for  the  nature  of  the  God-idea  and  the  psychologi- 
cal factors  at  work  in  determining  it.  We  turn  now  to  our 
other  question :  Why  do  people  believe,  or  continue  to  believe, 
in  God ;  What  are  the  psychological  bases  and  the  leading  types 
of  this  belief?  There  are  of  course  many  types  of  religious  be- 
lief, and  for  various  purposes  various  diiferent  divisions  might 
be  devised,  all  equally  true.  For  the  purposes  of  this  chap- 
ter, however,  we  shall  make  use  of  a  four-fold  division, ^^  sug- 

18  For  a  statement  of  what  seems  to  mo  the  real  relation  between  the 
knower  and  his  objects,  see  my  papers,  *'  The  Confessions  of  an  Old  Realist" 
and  "  A  Defense  of  Dualistic  Realism "  in  the  Journal  of  Philosophy, 
XIII,  687f  and  XIV,  253f  respectively:  also  "Essays  in  Criti'^al  Realism," 
passim. 

19  It  would  ill  become  me  to  insi«?t  that  there  are  just  four  t^^pes  of  re- 
ligious belief,  namely  those  described  in  this  chapter.     In  1906  I  published 

\ 


210  TIIK  KELTGTOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

gested  by  Bain's  classical  treatment  of  the  psychology  of  be- 
lief,^' —  a  division  which  has  here  the  added  advantage  of  cor- 
responding exactly  with  the  four-fold  division  of  religious  at- 
titudes elaborated  in  our  first  chapter.  Our  four  types  of  re- 
ligious belief  may  then  be  styled  (1)  authoritative  or  habitual, 
(2)  reasoned,  (3)  emotional,  and  (4)  volitional,  according  as 
the  belief  is  based  upon  the  natural  credulity  of  the  mind,  upon 
some  form  of  argument  explicit  or  implicit,  upon  an  emotional 
experience,  usually  of  the  mystic  sort,  or  finally  upon  the  will 
to  believe. 

Our  first  class  is  a  very  large  one  and  includes  several  kinds 
of  people.  Some  of  these  believe  in  God  because  when  children 
they  were  taught  to  believe,  and  have  continued  doing  so  ever 
since,  not  because  of  any  new  experience  or  appealing  argument 
of  strong  desire,  but  simply  from  the  force  of  habit.  Their 
first  belief  in  God  as  children  —  and  that  is  true  of  all  of 
us  —  was  a  simple  case  of  primitive  credulity,  the  original 
tendency  of  the  mind  to  accept  whatever  is  presented  to  it ;  and 
a  kind  of  mental  inertia  combined  with  the  common  dislike  of 
changing  things  once  regarded  as  settled,  has  merely  prolonged 
the  original  belief  of  childhood  on  into  mature  life  by  the 
simple  process  of  inhibiting  all  incipient  efforts  of  the  critical 
faculty. 

Closely  connected  with  this  type  of  believer  is  the  man  who, 
though  not  contented  with  merely  habitual  faith,  naturally  tends 
to  avoid  all  serious  thinking  on  his  own  part,  preferring  that 
others  should  do  it  for  him.  "  I  believe  in  God,"  writes  one 
of  my  respondents,  "  because  my  father  does  and  did  when  I 
was  young."  Of  many  of  us  is  Professor  James's  oft  quoted  sen- 
tence very  true :     "  Our  faith  is  faith  in  some  one  else's  faith." 

a  study  of  the  subject  in  which  I  divided  religious  belief  into  five  types 
("Types  of  Religious  Belief,"  Am.  Jour,  of  Relig.  Psy.,  March,  1906,  I, 
76-94)  ;  while  the  following  year,  in  my  "Psychology  of  Religious  Belief," 
I  reduced  the  number  of  types  to  three.  In  1877  C.  S.  Peirce  enumerated 
four  methods  of  fixating  belief,  certainly  quite  as  important  and  undeniable 
as  the  four-fold  division  I  have  borrowed  from  Bain  —  namely  the  methods 
of  tenacity,  authority,  inclination,  and  scientific  verification.  My  division 
is,  of  course,  no  truer  than  Peirce's,  but  it  is  better  adapted  to  the  pur- 
poses of  our  study. 

20  "The  Emotions  and  the  Will"    (3d  Ed.     London,  Longmans:    1888), 
p.  511. 


THE  BELIEF  11^  A  GOD  211 

A  mucli  more  earnest  and  truly  religious  sort  of  conviction  is  to 
be  found  in  the  believer  who  pins  his  faith  not  to  some  other 
man^s  faith  but  to  some  great  and  widely  recognized  source  of 
authority,  such  as  the  Bible,  the  Church,  the  words  of  Jesus, 
or  the  great  mass  of  the  community.  "  I  believe,"  writes  one 
man  to  me,  ''  because  I  feel  that  so  many  people  have  believed 
and  so  long."  Among  Catholics  the  authority  appealed  to  is,  of 
course,  the  Church,  while  among  Protestants  the  authority  most 
quoted  is  the  Bible.  One  respondent  writes :  "  I  believe  from 
the  argument  of  the  Scriptures  (see  Col.  I  16-21)  and  the  au- 
thority of  the  Bible  —  the  detailed  account  of  Creation,  His 
dealing  with  Sin  and  Satan,  the  Prophets,  Isaiah  53  more  than 
any  other."  This  man  likes  to  think  his  belief  is  based  on  an 
"  argument "  and  evidently  fails  to  see  that  as  an  argument  his 
appeal  to  Scripture  goes  in  a  circle,  presupposing  its  infallible 
inspiration  by  God  in  order  thereafter  to  prove  the  existence  of 
God.  As  a  fact,  of  course,  his  belief  has  little  enough  to  do 
with  any  reasoning  processes ;  the  "  argument,"  such  as  it  is, 
being  devised  after  the  fact,  to  justify  what  he  believes  on  au- 
thority and  through  habit.  In  this  connection,  however,  it 
should  be  said  that  the  appeal  to  the  Bible  as  a  binding  au- 
thority is  relatively  rare;  the  tendency  in  almost  every  Pro- 
testant denomination  and  sect  being  decidedly  away  from  the 
almost  servile  attitude  toward  the  letter  of  Scripture  which 
orthodox  Christianity  is  often  accused  of  inculcating. 

Eighty-nine  out  of  three  hundred  and  sixty-seven  respondents 
of  mine  ^^  —  i.  e.  just  under  twenty-five  per  cent  —  must  cer- 
tainly be  classed  under  this  habitual  or  authoritative  t}^e ;  and 
I  feel  very  sure  the  number  should  be  considerably  larger.  The 
faith  of  most  people,  of  course,  finds  its  psychological  roots  in  all 
four  of  the  sources  mentioned;  and  the  principle  of  classifica- 
tion in  our  four-fold  division  is  merely  that  of  singling  out  the 
'predominant  source  in  each  case;  but  it  is  inevitable  that  in 

21  Seventy-one  of  these  367  responses  were  used  in  preparation  of  my 
"  Psychology  of  Religious  Belief "  in  1907.  Since  that  time  I  have  col- 
lected 296  additional  answers  to  the  question,  "  Why  do  you  believe  in 
God?"  through  questionnaires  distributed  by  my  students.  In  preparing 
this  chapter  I  have  gone  over  the  responses  used  in  my  earlier  book  and 
reinterpreted  them,  a  procedure  which  has  resulted  in  a  few  slight  changes 
in  my  figures. 


212  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

figures  based  on  questionnaires  the  authoritative  source  should 
receive  much  less  than  its  due  emphasis,  since  nearly  all  persons 
with  wliom  it  is  really  the  chief  determinant  like  to  persuade 
themselves  that  their  belief  is  based  on  something  quite  different. 

For  this  reason  our  second  class  of  believers  —  those  who  rest 
their  faith  chiefly  on  some  form  of  reasoning  —  undoubtedly 
bulks  larger  in  the  results  of  a  (questionnaire  than  it  has  really 
any  right  to  do."^  One  hundred  and  thirteen  of  my  respondents 
—  i.  e.  about  thirty  per  cent  —  insist  that  their  faith  is  based 
chiefly  on  some  form  of  reasoning.  Many  of  them  probably 
really  belong  to  our  first  type;  but  just  how  many  it  is  im- 
possible to  say.  The  exact  percentage,  therefore,  is  of  little 
significance ;  the  important  thing  for  us  to  notice  being  the 
nature  of  the  type  under  consideration,  not  its  chance  numbers 
in  my  small  and  haphazard  collection  of  respondents. 

All  the  members  of  this  second  class  start  out  with  some  gen- 
eral conception  of  the  universe  which  is  taken  for  granted  — 
such  as  its  obedience  to  the  causal  law,  its  moral  nature,  etc.  — 
and  the  argimients  made  use  of  are  really  efforts  to  show  ex- 
plicitly that  the  non-existence  of  God  would  be  incongruous 
with  such  a  Realitv.  The  arciiments  referred  to  are  sometimes 
the  stock  arguments  for  theism  to  be  found  in  so  many  books 
and  formerly  heard  in  so  many  sermons.  It  is  particularly 
the  cosmological  and  the  teleological  arguments  that  seem  vitally 
to  affect  belief.  A  goodly  number  of  my  respondents  say  they 
believe  in  God  because  they  cannot  imagine  how  the  universe 
could  ever  have  been  started  or  could  be  kept  going  without 
a  "  Master  Mind  "  to  make  and  run  it.  Sometimes  these  argu- 
ments are  expressed  conventionally  and  glibly,  sometimes  with 
a  good  deal  of  evident  feeling.  It  would  certainly  be  a  great 
mistake  (if  I  may  judge  by  my  respondents)  to  suppose  that 

22  The  fact  that  belief  very  often  rests  much  less  upon  rational  consider- 
ations than  the  believer  supposes  is  an  important  and  indubitable  fact,  to 
which  psychologists  have  often  called  attention.  This,  for  example,  is  the 
central  theme  running  through  Professor  Joseph  Jastrow's  "  Psychology  of 
Conviction"  (Boston,  Houghton,  Mifflin:  1918),  and  specially  expounded 
in  the  loading  essay  of  the  volume.  Professor  Jastrow  makes  emotion  and 
convention  the  chief  determinants  of  belief,  giving  reason  a  third  place. 
As  he  includes  under  "  emotion  "  what  I  have  treated  under  that  head 
and  also  under  the  "  will  to  believe,"  his  classification  agrees  essentially 
with  the  one  given  in  the  text. 


THE  BELIEF  i:^  A  GOD  213 

the  cosmological  argmncut  has  been  dead  since  Kant's  time 
or  that  Darwin  gave  the  coup  de  grace  to  the  argument  from 
design.  Whatever  we  may  think  of  these  venerable  forms  of 
reasoning  from  a  philosophic  point  of  view,  the  student  of 
the  psychology  of  religion  must  admit  that  with  very  many 
earnest  men  and  women  they  are  exceedingly  vital  still. —  Per- 
haps not  so  vital  as  they  used  to  be,  certainly  not  so  important 
as  their  upholders  like  to  think ;  probably  never  the  sole  support 
of  any  real  faith ;  but  still  very  real  aids  to  belief  in  God. 

Another  type  of  argument  which  seems  quite  as  important 
as  the  more  philosophic  sort  —  and  which  is  probably  more 
genuinely  efficient  in  producing  conviction  —  is  derived  from 
the  effect  of  Christian  belief  upon  human  life.  "  My  belief 
in  God,"  \vrites  one  man,  "  is  from  the  argument  of  the  lives 
of  those  whom  I  have  known  to  have  believed  in  Him,  the 
streno'th  of  whose  lives  seemed  to  lie  in  that  fact."  And  an- 
other :  "  I  believe  in  God  from  the  proof  of  His  ability  to 
help  me."  A  very  real  kind  of  argument  of  this  pragmatic 
type  is  sometimes  made  in  favor  of  the  authority  of  Christ  or 
of  some  prophetic  person,  and  belief  in  God  is  then  based 
upon  this  authority.  Cases  of  this  sort  should  be  distinguished 
sharply  from  those  of  our  Class  I;  for  the  foundation  of  the 
belief  here  is  not  authority  but  some  form  of  reasoning, —  as  in 
the  following :  "  The  process  is  more  or  less  one  of  reasoning. 
I  am  much  helped  by  the  mystics  —  by  the  experiences  of  men 
like  Dr.  Bucke  (see  James's  ^  Varieties  ').  A  good  deal  by  the 
steadfast  conviction  of  the  Father  which  appears  in  the  words 
of  Jesus."  In  many  cases,  however,  reasoning  and  authority 
blend  in  such  fashion  as  hardly  to  be  distinguishable  —  belief 
beginning  in  primitive  credulity,  later  basing  itself  on  argu- 
ments, and  finally  continuing  through  the  force  of  habit  after 
the  arguments  have  been  half  forgotten.  ^^  Everything  in  na- 
ture seems  to  prove  there  is  a  God,"  writes  one  woman;  and 
having  said  this  to  justify  her  faith  by  logic,  she  continues :  "  I 
cannot  tell  why  I  believe  in  God,  but  think  argument  and 
Bible  reading  have  helped  me  to  feel  sure  there  is  a  God,  and 
now  I  believe  without  proof  or  reason." 

Class  III  is  composed  of  those  whose  belief  in  God  is  based 
chiefly  on  some  form  of  the  affective  consciousness.     To  avoid 


2U  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

unduly  tcclinical  plirasoology  I  have  called  this  type  *'  Emotional 
Belief,"  thouj2;h  strictly  speaking  I  should  have  used  the  word 
affcetive  rather  than  emotional,  since  1  mean  to  include  in 
it  more  than  belief  based  on  emotion  alone,  in  the  technical 
sense  of  the  word.  It  is  often  said  that  religion  is  a  matter 
of  feeling;  and  so  of  course  to  a  considerable  extent  it  is; 
but  when  this  expression  is  properly  used  it  must  be  remembered 
not  onlv  that  religion  has  other  elements  besides  the  affec- 
tive  ones,  but  also  that  "  feeling  "  when  thus  applied  has  at 
least  three  distinguishable  degrees  of  complexity,  and  that  re- 
ligion partakes  of  all  three.  The  simplest  of  these  is  to  be 
found  in  the  pleasant  and  unpleasant  affective  tones  that  ac- 
company nearly  all  —  if  not  quite  all  —  mental  processes. 
Higher  than  these  in  the  scale  of  complexity  come  the  emo- 
tions. An  emotion  is  no  simple  thing  like  a  feeling  and  it  in- 
cludes or  at  least  involves  some  elements  by  no  means  affective 
in  their  nature.  Whether  or  not  we  accept  the  James-Lange 
theory,  a  full-fledged  emotion  always  involves  an  ideal  element. 
It  is  a  complex  of  feelings  crystallized  about  an  explicit  or 
implicit  meaning  —  which  may  be  in  part  the  cause  or  in  part 
the  effect  of  the  feelings  and  their  bodily  expressions  —  and 
tending  always  to  some  form  of  activity.  Finally,  following 
Mr.  Shand  ^^  and  Mr.  McDougal,^**  we  may  use  the  word 
sentiment  to  denote  those  complexes  of  emotional  tendencies 
which  are  enduring  and  largely  potential  rather  than  actual 
forms  of  immediate  experience.  A  sentiment  has  a  more  ex- 
plicitly ideational  element  than  emotion,  and  includes,  usually, 
a  number  of  emotions  which  mav  be  summoned  into  action  at 
any  time  by  the  idea  of  the  object  about  which  the  sentiment 
centers.  A  religious  belief  of  the  affective  type  is,  therefore, 
much  more  closely  related  to  sentiment  than  to  emotion  in  the 
stricter  sense  of  the  term.  It  does  not  depend  for  its  existence 
upon  the  actual  excitation  of  the  emotion;  nor  (in  most  cases, 
at  any  rate)  is  there  any  one  emotion  upon  which  it  rests. 
Eather  is  the  affective  conviction  of  God's  existence  bound  up 
with  a  whole  system  of  potential  emotions,  whose  past  activity 

23  See   his   "  Character    and    the   Emotions "    in    Mind   for    April,    1896. 
(N.  S.  v.),  esp.  pp.  214-24. 

24  See  his  "  Social  Psychology,"  Chap.  V. 


THE  BELIEF  11^  A  GOD  216 

and  whose  possible  activity  are  kept  constantly  in  the  dim  back- 
ground of  the  mind,  and  which  may  at  any  moment  be  called 
into  play  by  the  idea  of  the  Divine.  But  the  most  important 
thing  to  recognize  in  this  connection  is  that  this  affective  type 
of  faith  as  well  as  every  other  has  necessarily  a  good  deal  of 
ideational  content.  It  is  not  merely  felt :  it  possesses  mean- 
ing. The  attempt  to  interpret  faith  as  merely  a  form  of  feel- 
ing, and  thus  to  deny  it  any  intellectual  element,  is  merely  a 
new  illustration  of  the  force  of  momentum ;  anti-intellectualism 
having  got  a  tremendous  start  is  unable  to  stop.  In  the  words 
of  Professor  Armstrong :  "  The  sentimental  theory  is  almost 
as  one-sided  as  the  intellectualism  which  it  seeks  to  supplant. 
If  it  lays  stress  on  factors  in  belief  which  need  to  be  emphasized, 
over-emphasis  involves  both  theoretical  and  practical  dan- 
gers." ^^  Feeling  is  important  for  religious  belief  not  in  sup- 
plying its  content  —  or  supplanting  its  content  —  but  in  lend- 
ing it  strength. 

If  we  may  trust  the  outcome  of  my  questionnaire,  this  third 
type  of  belief  includes  a  larger  percentage  of  the  religious  peo- 
ple in  the  community  than  any  of  the  three  others.  Thirty-two 
out  of  seventy-one  of  my  earlier  cases, ^^  and  one-hundred  and 
four  out  of  two-hundred  and  ninety-six  of  my  later  cases  —  in 
all  one-hundred  and  thirty-six  out  of  three-hundred  and  sixty- 
seven  —  seemed  from  their  answers  to  belong  to  this  class.  Two 
comments,  however,  must  be  made  upon  this  fact.  In  the  first 
place  it  seems  probable  that  a  number  of  the  respondents 
really  misinterpreted  their  own  belief  and  that  a  truer  insight 
would  have  attributed  the  chief  influence  to  authority  or  to  the 
will  to  believe.  The  line  between  our  third  and  our  fourth 
classes  —  between  "  feeling  "  and  wish  —  is  notably  hard  to 

25  "Is  Faith  a  Form  of  Feeling?"  {Harvard  Theological  Review,  IV, 
79.)  Cf.  also  the  following  very  wise  words  of  Erich  Warschauer:  "  Wis- 
sen  and  Glauben  sagen  aus  dass  etwas  ist.  Oder :  *  ich  weiss '  imd  *  ich 
glaube '  heisst  zuniichst  weiter  nichts  als :  ich  halte  fiir  wahr.  Wie  sehr 
man  aiich  mit  recht  den  Glauben  von  Wissen  trennen  will,  es  muss  ohne 
weiteres  zugegeben  werden,  dass  beides  keinen  anderen  Sinn  haben  kann, 
als  die  positive  Setzung  eines  Inhalts  mit  dem  apodiktischen  Auspruche: 
Diese  Aussage  soil  objective  Giiltigkeit  haben,  soil  wahr  sein."  ("Zur 
Psychologie  der  Entstehung  und  Entwicklung  des  Glaubens,"  Zeitschrift  f. 
Religionspsychologie.     January,  1911,  p.  340.) 

2«  That  is,  those  reported  in  the  "  Psychology  of  Religious  Belief." 


216  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

draw,^"  and  many  a  believer  whose  faith  is  really  based  on 
strong  desire  undoubtedly  succeeds  in  persuading  himself  that 
it  is  due  to  mystic  feeling  or  some  other  form  of  "  inner  ex- 
perience." And  secondly  I  must  point  out  to  the  reader  the 
very  obvious  fact  that  even  if  we  were  to  trust  all  my  respon- 
dents' introspection  it  would  be  a  great  mistake  to  consider  them 
entirely  representative  of  the  community  at  large.  For  every 
person  who  answers  a  questionnaire  there  are  six  or  seven  who 
throw  it  into  the  waste  basket.  And  probably  no  class  of  be- 
lievers is  so  likely  to  answer  a  questionnaire  on  religion  as 
those  who  belong  to  our  third  type. 

Still  I  cannot  but  consider  it  of  some  interest  and  significance 
that  thirty-seven  per  cent  of  those  who  did  answer  my  ques- 
tionnaire insisted  —  and  usually  with  a  good  deal  of  vehemence 
—  that  their  belief  in  God  was  based  not  on  authority,  argu- 
ment, or  wish,  but  upon  some  form  of  feeling  or  "  inner  ex- 
perience." So  far  as  I  can  judge  —  by  my  own  personal 
knowledge  and  my  students'  knowledge  of  them  —  my  re- 
spondents are  fairly  representative  of  the  religious  portion  of 
the  community;  and  my  study  of  the  subject  during  the  last 
fifteen  years  confirms  me  in  the  opinion  expressed  in  my  "  Psy- 
chology of  Religious  Belief  "  that  the  source  of  a  large  part 
of  the  most  living  faith  in  our  country  is  due  to  a  mild 
type  of  mystical  experienced^ 

The  emotional  or  affective  experience  from  which  the  mem- 
bers of  our  third  class  draw  most  of  the  strenerth  of  their  faith 
is  of  several  kinds.  Perhaps  the  most  common  —  if  we  may 
trust  the  replies  —  is  an  incipiently  mystic  "  experience  of  God's 
presence."  This  comes  out  repeatedly  in  the  responses,  some- 
times in  conventional  language  but  often  also  with  a  freshness 
and  sincerity  of  expression  that  leaves  no  room  for  doubt  of  the 
reality  of  the  experience, —  however  the  experience  should  be 
interpreted.  I  shall  not  give  any  examples  of  it  here,  for  we 
shall  study  the  question  at  considerable  length  when  we  take 
up  the  subject  of  mysticism. 

27  Hoffding  even  goes  so  far  as  to  say,  "  The  belief  which  cannot  be  proved 
is  a  wish  that  what  we  believe  may  be  true."  "  The  Philosophy  of  Reli- 
gion," p.  341. 

2**  While  this  is  true,  T  have  come  to  the  conclusion  that  in  my  former 
book  I  somewhat  overestimated  the  spread  of  the  mystic  consciousness. 


THE  BELIEF  IN  A  GOD  217 

Many  of  the  respondents  who  lay  claim  to  no  such  experi- 
ence still  refer  their  faith  to  something  that  is  essentially  affec- 
tive,—  using  such  expressions  as  "  instinct/'  "  direct  conscious- 
ness," ^'  in.tuition,''  ^'  the  feeling  within  that  there  is  a  God," 
etc.  "  I  believe  in  God,"  writes  one,  "  not  from  argument  but 
from  something  within  that  tells  me  thiere  is  one.  I  think 
nothing  could  shake  that  faith."  Another :  ^'  1  have  never 
seen  a  high  mountain  or  the  ocean  or  any  other  vast  and  beau- 
tiful sight,  without  a  strengthening  of  my  belief  in  God.  But 
it  is  also  truB  that  I  have  never  seen  a  miserable  child,  a 
suffering,  abused  animal  or^  a  fallen  woman  without  the  same 
effect.  There  must  be  somer  One  by  whom  all  these  creatures 
shall  be  avenged  —  ^  all  tears  wiped  away.'  " 

As  the  reader  will  see,  this  last  case  is  on  the  line  between 
our  third  and  fourth  types.  This  fourth  class  —  whose  faith 
is  based  on  the  will  to  believe  —  makes  a  small  showing  in 
the  results  from  my  questionnaire  —  only  twenty-nine  of  the 
three-hundred  s-ixty-seven,  that  is  about  eight  per  cent,  belonging 
to  it.  As  I  have  previously  indicated,  however,  my  figures  are 
here  presumably  untrustworthy;  and  many  of  my  respondents 
pretty  certainly  belong  to  this  class  who  maintain  (and  doubt- 
less fully  believe)  that  their  faith  is  based  on  mystic  feeling 
or,  still  more  likely,  on  'argument. ^^  The  immediate  influence 
of  a  questionnaire  is  to  put  the  respondent  into  a  theoretical 
frame  of  mind  and  to  induce  him  to  formulate  arguments  for 
beliefs  which  he  holds  from  quite  other  causes.  Nor  do  we 
have  to  go  to  the  respondents  of  a  questionnaire  to  see  how 
natural  it  is  for  the  will  to  believe  to  go  unrecognized  by  the 
believer,  while  various  arguments,  more  or  less  extraneous, 
get  the  credit  for  the  faith.  In  a  sense  the  whole  history  of 
philosophy  and  of  theology  is  an  illustration  of  this.  How 
easily,  for  example,  does  Descartes's  firm  determination  to  doubt 
everything  doubtable  capitulate  to  the  God  of  theology  after 
the  exposition  of  an  argument  which,  to  the  modern  reader  at 
any  rate,  seems  less  a  proof  than  a  lengthy  excuse  elaborated  by 

29  According  to  Freud,  wish  is  always  at  the  bottom  of  belief;  but  this 
wish  is  often  masked  or  hidden  from  the  believer.  One  of  the  common- 
est of  the  mechanisms  for  hidinjj  this  fundamental  wish  is  rationalization. 
We  persuade  ourselves  that  our  belief  is  based  on  reason  when,  as  a  fact, 
it  is  only  an  expression  of  desire. 


218  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

the  philosopher  for  f^iving  in  his  assent.  And  much  the  same 
surely  could  be  said  of  many  another  defender  of  the  faith. 
Saint  Evromond  says  of  the  Orthodox  Catholics  of  his  day 
(about  1G50)  :  **  With  most  of  them  the  wish  to  believe  takes 
the  place  of  actual  belief.  Their  will  assents  to  what  their 
intellect  desires."  ^•^  This  is  not  tnie  of  17th  Century  Catho- 
lics alone.  ^lanv  a  modern  Catholic  bases  his  faith  in  the 
authority  of  the  Church  ultimately  upon  his  wish  to  believe  in 
the  Church.  A  striking  and  rather  melancholy  illustration 
of  this  is  to  be  found  in  the  long  struggle  of  that  rare  spirit, 
George  Tyrrell,  who  with  all  his  love  for  Catholicism  was  too 
clear  in  self-analysis  and  too  ingenuous  in  expression  to  pretend 
that  it  was  reasoning  that  led  him  to  Rome.  "  I  felt,"  he 
writes,  concerning  his  conversion  to  Catholicism,  "  I  felt  it 
would  be  Rome  or  nothing.  I  knew  dimly  that  I  had  not  any 
real  faith  in  Rome  —  only  a  great  wish  that  I  could  believe  — 
a  wish  that  some  of  the  grosser  obstacles  were  non-existent;  I 
was  tempted  to  do  what  I  knew  or  suspected  would  be  internally 
dishonest."  And  looking  back  at  his  long  attempt  to  be  a 
good  Jesuit  he  confesses :  ^^  Sometimes  I  think  it  must  be  said 
that,  in  the  deepest  depths  of  my  self-consciousness,  I  believe 
nothing  at  all,  and  am  self-deceived  in  the  matter;  and  the 
recognition  of  the  manner  in  which  I  have,  all  along,  allowed 
the  ^  wish  to  believe '  to  play  upon  me  rather  confirms  this 
melancholy  hypothesis."  ^^ 

With  Protestants  no  less  than  among  Catholics,  the  will  to  be- 
lieve often  unites  with  authority,  each  reinforcing  the  other  — 
as  poor  Tyrrell  tried  to  make  them  do  in  his  own  life.  A  very 
representative  picture  is  given  by  the  following  from  one  of 
my  respondents :  '^  I  have  been  taught  to  believe  in  God  from 
childhood,  and  I  can  see  no  object  in  not  believing.  A  trust 
in  a  higher  divine  power  makes  my  life  seem  more  than  if  I 
believed  there  was  nothing  to  live  for  but  the  present."  And 
here  are  two  more  typical  responses  in  which  appeal  is  made 

30  Quoted  by  St.  Cyres  in  his  "Pascal"  (Xew  York,  Dutton:  1910),  p. 
177. 

31  "  Autobioj^aphy  and  Life,"  Vol.  I,  pp.  155,  and  133.  The  wish  to  be- 
lieve which  led  Tyrrell  to  Rome  was  not  strong  enough  to  keep  him  there, 
and  the  latter  part  rf  his  life  was  one  long  revolt  of  intellect  and  heart 
against  the  strong  wish,  which  had  never  been  fully  satisfied. 


THE  BELIEF  IiN"  A  GOD  219 

only  to  the  will :  ^^  I  believe  in  some  divine  power  but  know 
not  whether  it  is  a  remote  '  God  '  or  mj  own  soul.  I  hold  the 
former  belief  in  time  of  despondency ;  the  latter  in  time  of  self- 
confidence."  ^^I  believe  in  God  because  of  the  need  of  my 
moral  nature.     I  need  Him  as  a  child  needs  its  parents." 

The  fact  that  belief  can  be  actually  brought  about  by  wish 
and  nourished  by  systematic  acts  of  will  is  the  foundation  of  all 
the  methods  of  faith-culture  within  one's  self.  One  may  some- 
times produce  faith  in  others  by  means  of  authority  and  ar- 
gument, but  all  attempts  at  inducing  faith  in  one's  own  mind 
rest  ultimately  upon  the  will-to-believe.  And  the  self-culture 
of  belief  is  often  most  effective,  as  is  known  by  all  skillful  per- 
suaders of  souls.  If  a  strong  wish  for  faith  can  be  induced,  a 
little  faith  will  follow,  and  a  little  faith  once  started  can  be  sys- 
tematically cultivated  by  voluntarily  attending  to  it,  enjoying 
it,  acting  upon  it,  and  inhibiting  all  ideas  that  tend  to  negate 
it.  So  the  skillful  evangelist  urges  -the  skeptic  who  is  ap- 
proaching the  melting  mood  to  pray, ''  Lord,  I  believe ;  help  Thou 
mine  unbelief."     He  has  his  congregation  sing  the  hymn, 

"  Only  believe  and  thou  shalt  see 
That  Christ  is  all  in  all  to  thee." 

And  he  reiterates  in  his  sermons  the  admonition  that  his  hear- 
ers whose  faith  is  small  and  weak  should  live  on  their  belief 
and  act  as  if  it  were  true,  and  he  promises  that  if  they  will 
fulfill  this  injunction  systematically  they  will  find  their  faith 
constantly  growing.  I  have  heard  it  expressed  in  the  follow- 
ing words  from  the  pulpit :  "  By  constant  prayer  to  Christ,  by 
acting  and  living  on  your  faith,  you  will  find  your  faith  made 
strong;  so  that  the  longer  you  live  the  more  you  will  see  your 
faith  has  a  strength  superior  even  to  the  certainty  of  a  mathe- 
matical demonstration."  The  method  here  involved  is  obviously 
auto-suggestion.  The  skeptic  who  wishes  that  a  certain  reli- 
gious doctrine  were  true  is  induced  to  suggest  to  himself  con- 
stantly that  it  is  true,  and  so  comes  at  last  to  believe. 

The  will  may  be  used  to  induce  something  like  our  first  type 
of  belief : —  a  kind  of  habitual  faith  or  primitive  credulity ;  or 
(in  rare  cases)  it  may  even  bring  about  the  emotional  and  mys- 
tic type  of  belief.     The  former  process  is  excellently  illustrated 


220  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

by  the  following  words  from  Pascal's  *'  Pcnsoe  "  in  which  he 
proscribes  a  method  by  which  a  merely  cold  intellectual  assent 
may  be  turned  into  a  vital  belief  through  the  voluntary  produc- 
tion of  a  habit : 

"  We  have  a  body  as  well  as  a  mind ;  and  therefore  we  are 
not  swayed  by  proof  alone.  Intellectual  convictions  are  worth 
little  if  the  mechanical  side  of  our  nature  is  set  in  the  opposite 
direction ;  we  must  gain  over  our  whole  self.  So  soon  as  we 
know  where  truth  lies  we  must  ask  custom  to  soak  and  steep  us 
in  that  belief.  For  we  cannot  be  always  carrying  proofs  around 
in  our  minds;  it  is  much  easier  to  believe  by  force  of  habit. 
This  uses  neither  violence  nor  artifice  nor  argument;  but  all 
unconsciously  it  brings  a  certain  bias  into  play,  and  into  that 
our  mind  falls  naturally." 

In  commenting  upon  this  passage  St.  Cyres  adds :  "  Pascal 
will  advise  his  free-thinker,  at  a  certain  stage  in  his  conver- 
sion, to  live  as  though  he  already  were  a  Catholic.  *  Have 
masses  said  and  take  holy  water ;  naturally  that  will  stupefy  you 
and  make  you  believe.'  This  famous  passage  does  not  mean 
that  a  man  may  la"vvfully  hocus  himself  into  accepting  a  creed 
which  he  knows  to  be  untrue;  all  Pascal  maintains  is  that  our 
'  machine  '  —  our  instincts,  habits,  associations  —  will  never 
keep  pace  with  our  brain  unless  we  call  in  custom  to  get  them 
out  of  an  old  groove  into  a  new  one."  ^^ 

A  rather  remarkable  case  in  which  something  like  a  mystical 
experience  and  its  correlative  belief  were  brought  about  by  a  de- 
liberate process  of  willing  to  believe  in  God  is  reported  by  Miss 
iVmy  E.  Tanner  in  the  Psychological  Bulletin  for  Feb.,  1907. 
The  case  is  that  of  a  woman,  who  in  youth  found  much  com- 
fort in  "  communion  wnth  God  "  and  then,  through  some  trying 
personal  experiences,  completely  lost  her  faith.  For  twenty 
years  she  remained  in  this  skeptical  state  of  mind,  far  removed 
from  any  sort  of  religious  belief,  when,  through  some  new  con- 
ditions, she  found  her  own  ideals  and  her  own  strength  in- 
sufficient to  carry  her  through  a  moral  crisis,  and  she  began 
to  long  for  the  old  sense  of  the  divine  presence  and  divine  help. 
"  Then  came  the  question  whether  I  could  use  the  concept  of  a 
personal  God  without  belief  in  its  objective  existence.     Could 

32  St.  Cyres'  "  Pascal,"  p.  370. 


THE  BELIEF  IN  A  GOD  221 

I  try  it  as  a  mere  working  hypothesis  and  expect  to  get  any 
valuable  results?  Anyhow  I  saw  nothing  else  to  do,  so  I 
said  to  myself  that  it  does  not  in  the  least  matter  whether  God 
exists  outside  of  the  minds  of  men.  .  .  .  Therefore  I  deliber- 
ately set  to  work  to  recognize  the  sense  of  God's  presence  which 
I  had  not  had  for  nearly  twenty  years.  I  reinforced  my  reason 
by  reiterating  my  reasons  for  assuming  such  a  personality,  and 
I  prayed  constantly  after  the  fashion  of  the  old  skeptic :  ^  O 
God,  if  there  is  a  God,  save  my  soul  if  I  have  a  soul.'  Then 
one  night  after  a  week  of  this  sort  of  thing,  the  old  sense  of 
God's  presence  came  upon  me  with  overpowerini^  fullness.  I 
cannot  express  the  sense  of  personal  intimacy,  understanding, 
and  sympathy  that  it  gave  to  me.  I  felt  the  thing  —  whatever 
it  was  —  so  close  to  me,  so  a  part  of  me,  that  words  and  even 
thoughts  were  unnecessary,  that  my  part  was  only  to  sink  back 
into  this  personality  —  if  such  it  were  —  and  drop  all  worries 
and  temptations,  all  the  straining  and  striving  that  had  been  so 
prominent  in  my  life  for  years  and  years.  Then  as  I  felt  con- 
solation and  strength  pouring  in  upon  me,  there  came  a  great 
upwelling  of  love  and  gratitude  toward  their  source,  even  though 
I  was  all  the  time  conscious  that  that  source  might  not  be  either 
personal  or  objective.  It  felt  personal,  I  said  to  myself,  and  no 
harm  would  be  done  by  acting  as  if  it  were  so.  .  .  .  On  the 
practical  side  the  value  of  this  experience  up  to  now  —  after 
a  period  of  three  months  —  has  been  permanent.  I  find  my 
thoughts  falling  back  upon  the  idea  of  this  presence  as  soon  as 
I  get  into  any  sort  of  trouble  or  perplexity ;  and  the  invariable 
effect  is  to  calm  me  and  to  enable  me  to  take  a  wider  out- 
look." ^3 

That  the  deliberate  cultivation  of  belief  may  develop,  or  de- 
generate, into  veritable  malpractice  upon  one's  own  mind  is 
evident  enough  without  any  words  of  mine.  But  that  fact 
should  not  hide  from  us  the  really  great  value  of  the  will  to 
believe  when  properly  used  and   in  the  proper  place.     Just 

33  Loc.  cit.,  pp.  33-36.  I  should  add,  however,  not  only  that  this  case  is 
very  unusual  and  not  at  all  typical,  but  also  that  even  in  this  case  the 
induced  "  faith  state  "  docs  not  seem  to  have  been  permanent.  Miss  Tan- 
ner writes  me  that  "  After  the  stress  and  strain  of  the  situation,  there  was 
a  distinct  tendency  to  revert  again  to  the  condition  of  doubt  or  disbelief 
in  an  objective  God." 


222  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

what  the  proper  plaee  and  the  proper  method  are  I  shall  not 
here  discuss,  as  the  whole  question  has  been  so  admirably  pre- 
sented in  Professor  James's  famous  essay.  Where  reason  and 
evidence  can  reveal  to  us  the  truth  thev  certainly  should  be  re- 
lied  upon  to  do  so.  But  in  questions  upon  which  they  cannot 
give  a  decision  yet  toward  which  we  must  take  some  attitude, 
surely  the  question  of  the  practical  results  of  belief  and  of 
disbelief  is  revelant;  and  the  faith  venture  while  not  logically 
required  mav  be  morally  demanded.  *'  The  wise  shall  live  bv 
postulates,"  says  Professor  Royce;  and  surely  there  is  at  least 
this  much  of  truth  in  St.  Paul's  words,  "  The  just  shall  live 
by  faith." 

The  questions  of  religion  are  too  vast  for  any  of  us  to  settle 
with  perfect  demonstration,  and  the  will  to  believe  will  always 
form  an  integral  part  of  normal,  healthy  faith.  And  the  same 
may  be  said  of  each  of  the  psychological  elements  of  belief  we 
have  been  considering.  Reliance  upon  authority  and  tradition 
is  perhaps  the  least  intellectual  of  the  four,  yet  the  strength 
which  it  can  lend  will  ever  be  needed  —  and  probably  demanded 
—  by  every  great  religion.  If  the  weight  of  tradition  were  not 
overmastering  —  in  religion  and  in  other  things  too  —  each  in- 
dividual would  have  to  begin  all  over  again  for  himself  the 
long  journey  for  the  pursuit  of  knowledge  and  of  helpful  opinion 
which  the  race  has  accomplished  through  so  many  weary  ages. 
As  it  is,  the  universal  tendency  to  believe  on  authority  makes 
each  of  us,  in  a  true  sense,  the  intellectual  heir  of  all  the  ages. 
The  individual  is  too  small  to  walk  alone,  his  life  is  too  short 
and  his  mental  grasp  too  slight  for  him  ever  to  throw  aside  the 
assistance  of  the  community's  faith.  All  the  great  religions 
lend  to  their  believers  to-day  a  strength  of  accumulated  tra- 
dition which  no  new  creed  or  sect  could  gather  "n  hundreds  of 
years.  Nor  should  reason  —  in  our  days  so  derided  —  be  left 
out  from  the  ideal  faith.  The  Credo  quia  impossihile  of  the 
Middle  Ages  has  been  weighed  in  the  balances  by  human  his- 
tory and  found  wanting.  No  belief  can  long  stand  which  is 
inconsistent  with  reason,  and  he  who  leaves  reason  out  of  his 
reckoning  in  rearing  his  faith  edifice  is  building  upon  the 
sands.  In  the  words  of  Professor  James  —  who  surely  was 
no  advocate  of  intellectualism  —  ^'  weak  as  reason  is,  it  has  this 


THE  BELIEF  1^  A  GOD  223 

unique  advantage  over  its  antagonists  that  its  activity  never  lets 
up  and  that  it  presses  always  in  one  direction,  while  men's 
prejudices  vary,  their  passions  ebb  and  flow,  and  their  excite- 
ments are  intermittent."  ^^  At  the  very  least,  reason  must  be 
able  to  show  the  possibility  of  the  religious  object  and  thus 
give  one  the  right  to  believe.  And  while  the  mystic  sense  is 
not  essential  to  faith  there  is  probably  nothing  else  that  lends 
to  faith  such  invincible  energy.  Finally,  lest  all  else  should 
fail,  the  man  who  through  thick  and  thin  is  to  maintain  both 
his  belief  in  the  realm  of  spirit,  and  his  loyalty  to  the  truth 
as  he  sees  it,  must  have  in  his  heart  the  courage  to  make  the 
faith  venture.  In  short  the  highest  and  healthiest  type  of  faith 
in  the  spiritual  world,  a  faith  that  is  warm  but  without  fanati- 
cism, reasonable  but  not  coldly  abstract,  courageous  yet  never 
self-deceived  nor  disloyal  to  truth,  calmly  confident  but  never 
blind,  and  neither  slavishly  servile  to  authority  nor  yet  lonely 
and  separatist, —  such  a  faith  must  draw  its  strength  from 
all  four  of  the  sources  indicated  in  this  chapter. 

34  "  Remarks  at  the  Peace  Banquet";  in  "Memories  and  Studies"  (New 
York,  Longmans:  1911),  p.  300. 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE    BELIEF    IN    IMMORTALITY 

The  individual's  attitude  toward  the  Determiner  of  Destiny, 
which  is  religion,  has  always  an  essentially  practical  coloring. 
It  involves  a  belief,  to  be  sure,  but  this  belief  is  never  a  matter 
of  pure  theory,  but  bears  a  reference,  more  or  less  explicit,  to 
the  fate  of  the  individuars  values.  Hence  in  nearly  every  re- 
ligion which  history  has  studied  or  anthropology  discovered,  the 
question  of  the  future  in  store  for  the  individual  believer  has 
been  of  prime  importance.^ 

Fortunately  we  are  not  called  upon  in  this  place  to  consider 
the  various  ideas  of  a  future  state  which  the  various  religions 
have  devised ;  such  a  subject  would  require  a  chapter,  if  not  a 
volume,  by  itself.  Nor  is  much  to  be  gained  by  an  investiga- 
tion of  the  ideas  of  the  future  life  as  held  by  men  and  women 
round  about  us.  I  have  nearly  a  hundred  responses  to  ques- 
tions about  the  soul,  heaven  and  hell,  etc.,  but  on  reading  them 
over  find  little  in  them  that  is  either  instructive  or  interesting, 
beyond  the  fact  that  the  old  ideas  of  golden  streets  and  of  fire 
and  brimstone  seem  to  have  been  pretty  generally  given  up. 
Heaven  is  spoken  of  as  a  "  state  "  rather  than  as  a  place,  and  is 
characterized  by  moral  progress  and  opportunity  for  service 
quite  as  much  as  by  joy  and  rest.  Only  a  small  proportion  of 
my  respondents  believe  in  anything  like  the  old-fashioned  hell.^ 

1  I  mean  by  this  that  the  question  here  referred  to  is  of  prime  impor- 
tance among  the  beliefs  of  every  such  religion.  A  few  societies  have  been 
reported  in  which  cult  seems  to  be  very  much  more  important  than  any 
belief. 

2  For  some  years  I  have  amused  myself  by  collecting,  from  my  friends 
and  students,  descriptions  of  the  "  soul."  I  cannot  call  the  answers  very 
instructive  but  the  experiment  has  often  proved  interesting.  One  lady 
describes  the  soul  as  "  a  sort  of  round  haze  a  little  larger  than  a  base- 
ball, somewhere  in  the  body  near  the  heart."  Another  makes  it  the  size 
of  a  football  and  locates  it  in  the  air  back  of  the  left  shoulder.  Some 
say  it  is  conscious,  some  not;  but  nearly  all  agree  that  it  is  that  which 
goes  to  heaven  when  you  die. 

224 


THE  BELIEF  IN  IMMORTALITY  225 

Much  more  important  for  our  purposes  is  the  question  why 
people  believe  in  a  future  life.  What  are  the  psychological 
sources  from  which  this  belief  springs,  and  what  are  the  lead- 
ing types  of  this  belief?  In  other  words  our  question  here  is 
quite  parallel  to  that  discussed  in  the  preceding  chapter  con- 
cerning belief  in  a  God.  And  I  think  we  can  hardly  do  better 
than  make  use  again  of  the  four-fold  division  of  belief  which 
was  there  our  guide.  In  fact  it  would  not  be  difficult  to  show 
in  purely  empirical  fashion  that  (however  else  one  may  treat 
the  subject)  faith  in  a  future  life  is  always  based  either  (1)  on 
primitive  credulity,  habit,  and  authority,  (2)  on  reason,  (3)  on 
some  form  of  feeling,  or  (4)  on  will. 

There  is,  however,  one  peculiarity  of  this  belief  which  differ- 
entiates it  from  belief  in  the  existence  of  God.  We  begin  believ- 
ing in  God  because  we  are  taught  to  do  so.  But  in  one  sense 
it  is  hardly  true  to  say  we  begin  believing  in  the  uninterrupted 
continuation  of  conscious  life  because  we  are  taught  it.  Rather 
is  this  the  natural  though  by  no  means  explicit  attitude  of  the 
young  mind.  The  child  takes  the  continuity  of  life  for  granted. 
It  is  the  fact  of  death  that  has  to  be  taught.  Almost  every  child, 
I  believe,  learns  only  with  a  good  deal  of  astonishment  that  he 
is  going  to  die, —  that  surely  cannot  be !  Hence  the  explicit 
idea  of  a  future  life  comes  to  him  as  the  most  natural  thing  in 
the  world,  provided  he  is  going  to  die  at  all.  It  quite  fits  in 
with  the  tendency  of  the  young  life  to  believe  in  its  own  per- 
petuity. 

With  this  understood,  we  may  say  truly  enough  that  the 
explicit  belief  in  a  life  after  death  begins  with  nearly  all  of  us 
as  a  matter  of  teaching  and  of  primitive  credulity.  And  with 
many  a  pious  soul  untroubled  by  a  disturbing  critical  faculty, 
the  belief  continues  to  be  based  chiefly  on  authority  to  the 
end  of  life.  As  nothing  disturbs  it  and  as  it  is  nourished  rather 
than  weakened  by  the  only  intellectual  atmosphere  to  which  it 
is  exposed  —  namely  the  sermons  of  the  pastor  and  a  few  re- 
ligious books  —  it  grows  into  a  habit  which  finally  becomes  too 
strong  to  fear  any  attack.  Very  typically  of  this  class,  a  woman 
of  nearly  seventy  writes  me,  "  I  believe  in  personal  immortality 
because  I  have  been  taught  it."  The  authority  appealed  to  is 
of  course  often  the  Bible,  Christ,  or  the  Church.     Sometimes 


226  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

the  appeal  is  of  a  less  "  orthodox  "  variety  and  partakes  more 
nearly  of  the  nature  of  reasoning.  Many  draw  their  faith 
largely  from  what  one  of  my  respondents  calls  "  the  expert  au- 
thority of  men  of  all  ages."  With  some  the  authority  —  say 
of  the  Bible  or  of  Christ  —  is  inextricably  bound  up  with  a  kind 
of  mystic  sense ;  as  in  the  following :  ^'  My  feeling  of  oneness 
with  Christ  lies  at  the  basis  of  my  assurance  of  my  blessed  per- 
sonal existence  with  him  forever."  "  I  believe  because  my  Lord 
tells  me  so  and  because  that  word  of  His  rings  true  in  my  own 
heart."  —  As  I  pointed  out  in  the  last  chapter,  belief  based 
on  authority  and  habit  is  stronger  with  nearly  every  one  than 
he  is  usually  willing  to  admit.  It  forms  the  background  of 
the  faith  in  immortality  with  many  a  man  and  woman  who  likes 
to  think  that  some  argument  is  the  really  decisive  factor.  At 
times  of  mental  alertness  the  argument  may  stand  forward  as 
the  great  champion  of  faith ;  but  when  the  mind  grows  weary 
it  is  usually  the  tradition  and  the  habit  of  childhood  —  always 
there  in  the  background  —  which  comes  forth  as  the  truly  de- 
cisive forces.  Even  with  men  of  the  highest  intellectual  cul- 
ture this  is  often  the  case.  Amiel,  for  example,  writes: 
"  What  is  my  real  faith  ?  Has  the  universal,  or  at  any  rate 
the  very  general  and  common  doubt  of  science,  invaded  me  in 
turn  ?  I  have  defended  the  cause  of  the  immortalitv  of  the 
soul  against  those  who  questioned  it,  and  yet  when  I  have  re- 
duced them  to  silence,  I  have  scarcely  known  whether  at  bottom 
I  was  not  after  all  on  their  side.  I  have  tried  to  do  without 
hope;  but  it  is  possible  that  I  have  no  longer  the  strength  for 
it,  and  that,  like  other  men,  I  must  be  sustained  and  consoled 
by  a  belief,  by  the  belief  in  pardon  and  immortality  —  that  is 
to  say  by  religious  belief  of  the  Christian  type.  Reason  and 
thought  grow  tired,  like  muscles  and  nerves.  They  must  have 
their  sleep,  and  this  sleep  is  the  relapse  into  the  tradition  of 
childhood,  into  the  common  hope.  It  takes  so  much  effort  to 
maintain  oneself  in  an  exceptional  point  of  view,  that  one  falls 
back  into  prejudice  by  pure  exhaustion,  just  as  the  man  who 
stands  indefinitely  always  ends  by  sinking  to  the  ground  and 
reassuming  the  horizontal  position."  ^ 

5  Journal  Intime   (for  Jan.  25,   1868).     Eng.  translation  by  Mrs.  Hum- 
phry Ward.      (Xew  York;  A.  L.  Burt.) 


THE  BELIEF  IX  IMMORTALITY  227 

I  am  inclined  to  think  that  belief  in  a  future  life  is  less  often 
based  upon  argument  than  is  belief  in  God.  Certainly  this 
second  source  of  faith  in  man's  survival  of  death  contributes 
far  less  of  strength  than  any  of  the  other  three, —  at  least  if 
we  take  into  account  only  its  direct  contribution.  The  argu- 
ments that  men  offer  in  defense  of  their  faith  are  in  most  cases 
of  a  negative  sort,  aiming  merely  to  show  that  those  who  deny 
the  eternal  life  are  no  more  justified  by  logic  and  evidence  than 
are  the  believers,  and  thus  leaving  open  the  door  to  faith  if  one 
wills  to  make  the  faith  venture.  More  positive  arguments  are 
sometimes  given.  To  those  who  start  out  with  the  view  that 
this  is  a  moral  universe  or  that  there  is  a  just  God,  the  idea  of 
death  ending  all  seems  incongruous  and  therefore  untenable; 
the  evils  of  this  life  must  be  righted  somewhere  and  sometime, 
the  good  rewarded  and  justice  done.  So  far  as  I  can  judge, 
however,  this  argument  is  less  generally  impressive  than  it  was 
a  generation  ago.  It  is  very  seldom  mentioned  by  any  of  my 
respondents  —  in  explicit  form,  at  any  rate  —  nor  do  I  find 
in  conversation  with  various  people  that  it  is  often  seriously 
relied  upon  as  an  argument.  The  believers  who  answered  my 
questionnaire,  so  far  as  they  refer  to  reasoning  at  all,  usually 
make  their  arguments  much  more  indefinite. —  "  My  reason  de- 
mands such  a  belief  to  rationalize  present  existence."  ''  Be- 
cause of  the  evident  purpose  behind  the  laws  of  the  universe, 
and  of  the  manifest  evolution  of  all  things  toward  perfection, 
which  development  does  not  appear  at  all  complete  in  the  hu- 
man life  by  death."  A  few  mention  the  results  of  psychical 
research  as  the  basis  of  their  faith.  The  Proceedings  of  the  So- 
ciety for  Psychical  Research,  and  the  books  by  Sir  Oliver  Lodge, 
Professor  Hyslop,  Frederick  Myers  and  others  of  their  school, 
together  with  the  influence  of  a  few  more  or  less  respectable 
mediums  in  each  of  our  large  cities  and  the  occurrence  of 
''  psychic  phenomena  "  here  and  there  in  the  community  have 
had  some  effect  in  resuscitating  belief  in  the  survival  after  death, 
though  probably  less  than  most  of  us  would  have  predicted. 
Since  the  beginning  of  the  recent  war,  however,  so-called  coromu- 
nications  from  the  other  side  and  popular  books  upon  the  subject 
have  notably  increased  not  only  in  number  and  variety  but  in 
influence  as  well.     Added  to  this,  as  a  reinforcement  to  faith, 


228  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

has  como  the  striking  confidence  in  the  souPs  life  with  which 
thousands  of  our  young  men  have  marched  almost  gaily  to  their 
death.  How  long  the  effects  of  this  war-horn  faith  will  last, 
now  that  the  war  is  over,  it  is  impossible  to  predict,  but  no  ob- 
server of  the  times  can  fail  to  see  that,  temporarily  at  least,  the 
future  life  has  been  made  distinctly  more  real  to  a  large  portion 
of  the  community.  "  Whatever  our  personal  beliefs/'  writes 
Winifred  Kirkland,  '^  we  are  strangely  stupid  if  we  are  not 
startled  by  the  overwhelming  evidence  of  the  present  centering 
of  the  general  attention  upon  the  possibility  of  survival." 
**  Myriads  of  peo})le  are  to-day  ordering  their  lives  on  the  hypo- 
thesis of  immortality.  For  one  man  four  years  ago  who  lived 
in  accordance  with  this  hypothesis,  to-day  a  thousand  do."  * 

Probably  the  argument  for  immortality  that  is  both  most 
generally  persuasive  and  logically  the  soundest  consists  in  point- 
ing out  the  essential  diiference  between  consciousness  and  its 
processes,  on  the  one  hand,  and  the  material  world  and  its  laws 
on  the  other.  This  is,  of  course,  the  essence  of  the  Platonic  ar- 
guments, and  nothing  better  is  likely  ever  to  be  suggested. 
"  Since  the  life  in  us  is  not  material,"  wTites  a  woman,  ''  it  can- 
not perish  as  a  material  thing."  Surely  a  great  deal  could  be 
said  for  this  position  and  there  is  no  doubt  that  it  or  something 
like  it,  in  explicit  or  in  implicit  form,  has  much  to  do  with 
the  quiet  confidence  in  which  many  thinking  people  face  death. 
Yet,  after  all,  its  chief  value  lies  in  opening  up  the  road  so  that 
the  more  deep-lying  influences  may  have  free  play.  I  find,  in 
fact,  that  most  of  my  respondents  who  name  some  argument 
for  their  faith  end  by  adding  —  "  And  then  it  must  be  so,"  or 
"  my  mind  demands  it,"  or  something  of  like  tenor  which  shows 
plainly  enough  where  the  real  strength  of  their  faith  lies.  Em- 
erson, who  was  one  of  the  most  ardent  defenders  of  the  faith  in 
immortality,  at  the  close  of  a  careful  exposition  of  the  reasons 
for  his  confidence,  adds  :  "  There  is  a  draw  back  to  the  value  of 
all  statements  of  the  doctrine,  and  I  think  that  one  abstains  from 

*"The  Xew  Death"  (Boston,  Houghton.  Mifflin:  1918),  pp.  7-8,  21-22. 
Miss  Kirkland,  of  course,  never  meant  her  figures  to  be  taken  literally. 
While  she  is  very  much  in  earnest,  her  eloquent  little  book  is  better  classed 
as  poetry  than  under  statistics. 


THE  BELIEF  IN  IMMORTALITY  229 

writing  or  printing  on  the  immortality  of  the  soul,  because,  when 
he  comes  to  the  end  of  his  statement,  the  hungry  eyes  that  run 
through  it  will  close  disappointed;  the  listeners  will  say,  That 
is  not  here  which  we  desire ;  and  I  shall  be  as  much  wronged  by 
their  hasty  conclusions  as  they  feel  themselves  wronged  by  my 
omissions.  I  mean  that  I  am  a  better  believer,  and  all  serious 
souls  are  better  believers  in  immortality  than  one  can  give 
grounds  for.  The  real  evidence  is  too  subtle,  or  is  higher  than 
one  can  write  down  in  propositions."  ^ 

The  more  deep-lying  influences  productive  of  this  faith  in  im- 
mortality are  to  be  found  in  the  realms  of  feeling  and  will.  At 
first  sight  it  may  seem  odd  that  feeling  can  give  strength  to  a  be- 
lief about  the  future;  but  on  further  reflection  it  will  be  plain 
that  there  is  nothing  at  all  strange  about  this.  For  the  belief  in 
question  is  not  one  of  reasoning  but  of  immediate  reality  feel- 
ing; and  as  we  have  seen,  if  an  object  of  thought  is  vividly  and 
warmly  presented  and  is  felt  to  be  congruent  with  one's  back- 
ground sense  of  reality,  it  is  ipso  facto  felt  as  real.  Belief  of 
this  emotional  type  as  applied  to  a  future  life  is  of  various 
sorts.  Many  persons  who  feel  it  strongly  are  unable  to  analyze 
it,  and  can  describe  it  only  as  a  ^'  feeling  "  or  an  "  instinct  "  or 
by  some  other  word  which  in  its  non-technical  sense  is  suffi- 
ciently vague.  "  Instinctively  I  feel  that  I  am  not  to  be  obliter- 
ated," is  a  typical  response.  Sometimes  the  belief  is  of  a  more 
plainly  mystic  type.  The  individual  who  feels  himself  "  united 
with  God  "  often  feels  —  rather  than  argues  —  that  his  life 
is  therefore  safe  and  eternal.  "  To  be  conscious  of  the  divine 
life  within,"  writes  one  of  my  respondents,  ''  is  to  know  that 
life  cannot  die."  A  somewhat  different  type  of  mystic  belief 
one  finds  in  writers  like  Walt  Whitman.  "  And  again  lo !  "  he 
writes  in  one  of  many  characteristic  passages,  "  the  pulsations 
in  all  nature,  all  spirit,  throbbing  forever  —  the  eternal  beats, 
the  eternal  systole  and  diastole  of  life  in  things  —  wherefrom  I 
feel  and  know  that  death  is  not  the  ending  as  was  thought,  but 
rather  the  real  beginning  —  and  that  nothing  ever  is  or  can  be 
lost,  nor  ever  die,  nor  soul  nor  matter."     This  is  not  argument 

5  "  Immortality,"  Vol.  VIII  of  his  complete  works.     (Boston,  Houghton, 
Mifflin:   1890),  p.  328. 


230  THE  KELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

nor  is  it  the  will  to  believe;  it  is  a  statement  of  an  immediate 
aj)prehonsioii,  deeply  felt,  and  one  which  borrows  its  sense  of 
reality  from  nothing  else.     It  is  its  own  authority. 

If  we  analyze  the  emotional  form  of  conviction  concern- 
ing  inmiortality  we  shall,  I  think,  find  that  in  most  cases  it  is 
based  upon  a  direct  apprehension  of  the  essential  worth  of  the 
self ;  °  going  back,  I  suppose,  to  the  instinct  of  self-assertion  — 
if  indeed  it  do  not  go  back  farther  than  any  instinct.  The  in- 
dividual is  conscious  of  inherent  powers  and  purposes  too  great 
to  be  exhausted  here,  and  feels  that  his  own  nature  is  such  that 
the  death  of  the  body  is  irrelevant  to  its  life.  This  is  not  an 
argument  nor  a  demand  but  an  immediate  sense  that  the  death 
of  the  spirit  is  intolerably  —  almost  ludicrously  —  incongruous 
with  what  one  feels  of  indubitable  reality  within.  "  I  believe 
in  immortality,"  writes  one  woman,  "  because  I  feel  that  I  can- 
not live  out  all  that  is  in  me  in  one  life  time."  Another :  "  My 
mind  refuses  to  believe  that  its  existence  can  be  destroyed." 

ft. 

"  Only  this  I  feel  warranted  in  holding  fast  to,"  writes  Felix 
Adler,  "  that  the  root  of  my  selfhood,  the  best  that  is  in  me, 
my  true  and  only  being,  cannot  perish.  In  regard  to  that  the 
notion  of  death  seems  to  me  to  be  irrelevant."  '^  Some  such 
inner  assurance  as  this  seems  to  have  been  the  source  of  Goethe's 
belief  in  immortality.  Speaking  of  death  he  said,  ^^  The 
thought  of  it  leaves  me  in  perfect  peace,  for  I  have  a  firm  con- 
viction that  our  spirit  is  a  being  of  indestructible  nature ;  it 
works  on  from  eternity  to  eternit}-  :  it  is  like  the  sun  which 
though  it  seems  to  set  to  our  earthly  eyes,  does  not  really 
set  but  shines  on  perpetually.  Do  you  think  a  coffin  can  im- 
pose upon  me  ?  "  ^ 

6  Stratton  has  pointed  out  the  influence  of  this  factor  in  belief.  "The 
sense  of  personal  worth  or  worthlessness  is  reflected  in  the  belief  in  im- 
mortality or  in  the  final  extinction  at  least  of  consciousness.  A  readi- 
ness  to  believe  in  ultimate  extinction  is  a  sign  of  self -depreciation ;  while 
the  opposite  feeling  —  that  in  some  way  this  self  of  mine  is  treasured, 
is  essential  to  the  world  —  supports  the  idea  that  death  is  but  a  superficial 
experience,  and  that  in  spite  of  it  the  individual  soul  lives  on."  ("The 
Psychology  of  the  Religious  Life,"  p.  30.) 

7  "  Life  and  Destiny,"  p.  39,  quoted  in  Leuba's  "  Belief  in  God  and  Im- 
mortality." 

8  Quoted  by  Lowes  Dickinson  in  the  Notes  to  his  Ingersoll  Lecture  on 
Immortality — "Is  Immortality  Desirable?"  (Boston,  Houghton,  Mifflin: 
1909),  p.  55. 


THE  BELIEF  IN  IMMORTALITY  231 

Some  of  the  answers  to  one  of  the  questions  asked  in  mj 
questionnaire  are  of  interest  here.  The  question  ran  :  "  When 
are  you  most  impressed  with  the  reality  of  a  future  life  ?  In 
sickness  or  in  health  ?  Please  describe  your  circumstances  and 
feeling  states  when  the  belief  is  most  strong."  The  number  of 
answers  to  this  question  was  very  small,  and  those  that  I  re- 
ceived seemed  at  first  confusing  and  contradictory.  Besides  sev- 
eral scattering  responses  which  were  not  significant,  twelve  as- 
serted that  their  faith  was  strongest  when  in  health,  seven  at 
times  of  sickness,  and  ten  when  confronted  with  the  thought 
of  their  own  death  or  when  present  at  the  death  of  a  friend. 
Contradictory  as  these  responses  seem,  I  believe,  on  careful  ex- 
amination, that  they  are  all  to  be  explained  on  the  same  prin- 
ciple —  the  principle,  namely,  we  have  just  been  considering. 
The  same  person,  in  fact,  might  well  find  both  health  and  sick- 
ness and  the  thought  of  death  strengthening  to  his  faith, —  just 
as  each  of  these  conditions,  for  other  reasons,  may  detract  from 
it.  These  reasons  for  detraction  may  be  mentioned  before  con- 
sidering the  more  positive  influences  in  question.  Some  find 
their  belief  less  strong  in  health  because  their  attention  is  then 
most  commonly  turned  away  to  other  things.  In  sickness  belief 
may  wane  with  other  mental  functions  from  sheer  fatigue. 
"  My  faith  is  weakest,"  writes  one  respondent,  "  when  I'm  tired 
out."  But  it  is  the  positive  influence  of  health  and  sickness 
that  are  of  most  interest.  When  one  is  enjoying  life  to  its 
full  and  is  in  the  complete  possession  of  all  his  faculties  which 
are  working  at  their  best,  the  thought  of  death  often  seems  in- 
congruous to  an  extreme.  "  My  belief  in  a  future  life,"  writes 
one  man,  very  typically,  ^^  is  merely  my  belief  in  life."  With 
Goethe  such  a  man  would  ask,  "  Do  you  think  a  coflin  can  im- 
pose upon  me  ?  " 

But  it  is  to  the  same  sense  of  the  uniqueness  and  value  and 
inner  strength  of  the  life  of  the  spirit,  that  those  refer  who 
find  their  faith  strongest  in  sickness  or  in  the  presence  of  death 
or  at  the  thought  of  death.  "  Very  often,"  writes  a  friend  of 
mine,  "  when  I  stand  in  the  presence  of  death,  I  feel  as  if  the 
immortality  of  the  one  who  is  gone  is  perfectly  clear.  Further- 
more, I  feel  that  if  death  should  plainly  present  itself  as  a 
near  possibility  for  myself  or  for  some  one  especially  near  to 


232  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

mc  I  would  not  in  the  least  fear  it  or  feel  that  it  offered  a 
barrier  to  the  truest  development  of  anything  good  in  me." 
At  such  a  time 

"  The  soul  secure  in  her  existence  smiles 
At  the  drawn  dagger  and  defies  its  point." 

And  here  I  have  in  mind  nothing  poetic  nor  metaphysical 
but  the  plainest  and  prosiest  of  psychological  facts.  To  the 
man  who  has  developed  to  any  considerable  degree  the  sense 
of  inner  worth  and  of  strong  spiritual  life,  the  thought  of  death 
is  likely  to  come  as  a  kind  of  challenge  and  to  rouse  within 
him  that  impulse  to  break  down  all  impediment  and  to  defy 
one's  opponent  to  come  on  and  do  his  worst,  which  psychology 
terms  the  instinct  of  pugnacity  and  popular  speech  calls  the 
sporting  blood.  It  is  thus  that  the  aged  poet  defies  the  coffin 
to  impose  on  him  and  that  the  ancient  philosopher  drinks  off 
the  hemlock  "  right  blithely,"  ordering  with  his  last  breath  an 
offering  to  the  god  of  health. 

Belief  of  the  kind  I  have  just  been  describing  is  usually  very 
strong,  and  has  the  added  advantage  of  being  at  its  strongest 
at  exactlv  the  times  when  it  is  most  needed.  It  is  not,  how- 
ever,  for  all,  and  I  cannot  say  that  those  in  whom  it  is  the 
dominant  type  of  faith  form  a  very  large  class.  Far  and  away 
the  largest  of  our  four  classes  is  the  fourth  —  those,  namely, 
whose  faith  is  based  chiefly  on  will.  It  hardly  needs  to  be  said 
that  the  great  majority  of  people  desire  a  future  life  —  whether 
intensely  or  slightly.  Three  of  my  students  have  issued  ques- 
tionnaires on  this  subject  and  between  them  have  collected  sixty- 
five  answers  to  the  question :  "  Do  you  desire  a  future  life  ? " 
Of  these  sixty-five  respondents,  fifty-eight  answered  Yes,  seven 
No.  Of  Mr.  Simeon  Spiddle's  one  hundred  and  seven  respon- 
dents, ninety-five  preferred  immortality,  while  twelve  were  in- 
different.^ Professor  Leuba  reports  that  83.8%  of 
the  less  eminent,  and  67.7%  of  the  more  eminent  phy- 
sical scientists,  among  whom  he  circulated  his  recent 
questionnaire,  desired  immortality;  and  that  70.7%  of  the 
"  lesser "  and  68.4%  of  the  '^  greater  "  biologists  desired  it. 
The  percentage  among  the  historians  and  sociologists  who  an- 

9  "  The  Belief  in  Immortality."    Journal  of  Relig.  Pay.,  V,  5-51. 


THE  BELIEF  IN  IMMOKTALITY  233 

swered  his  questionnaire  did  not  differ  materially  from  those 
just  cited.  Among  the  psychologists  the  desire  for  immor- 
tality was  found  at  its  lowest,  only  53.8%  acknowledging  it.^*^ 
The  first  question  on  the  questionnaire  gotten  out  a  few  years 
ago  by  the  American  Branch  of  the  Society  for  Psychical  Ke- 
search  reads,  "  Would  you  prefer  to  live  after  death  or  not  ?  " 
Out  of  3218  replies  2993  were  in  the  affirmative,  225  in  the 
negative. ^^  These  figures  from  Dr.  Schiller's  questionnaire 
are  not  so  significant  as  they  seem;  for  the  answers  to  later 
parts  of  the  questionnaire  reveal  the  fact  that  in  many  cases 
the  affirmative  answer  to  the  first  question  did  not  necessarily 
imply  any  strong  desire  for  continued  existence.  Question  IV 
read  "  Do  you  now  feel  the  question  of  a  future  life  to  be 
of  urgent  importance  to  your  mental  comfort  ? ''  To  this  the 
answers  were  "No,''  2007;  "Yes,"  1314.  Among  the  2007 
who  voted  No,  however,  were  included  practically  all  those  who 
did  not  believe  in  a  future  life  and  those  who  felt  skeptical 
about  it ;  hence  we  may  fairly  conclude  that  a  large  proportion 
of  the  earnest  believers  voted  Yes.  Certainly  this  is  the  case 
with  my  students'  respondents,  and  I  think  we  shall  be  safe  in 
conchiding  that  the  desire  for  a  future  life,  though  not  always 
strong,  is  fairly  general;  and  that  among  earnest  believers  the 
question  of  its  reality  is  of  urgent  importance. 

As  our  present  interest  is  concerned  altogether  with  the 
believers,  we  may  dismiss  from  consideration  the  unbelievers 
and  the  skeptics;  for  our  present  question  has  to  do  only 
with  the  source  of  the  belief  of  those  who  do  believe.  If  I  may 
judge  by  the  sixty-five  responses  to  my  students'  questionnaire 
and  the  sixty-nine  to  my  own,^^  we  may  conclude  (as  already 
indicated  above)  not  only  that  the  great  majority  of  believers  in 
a  future  life  desire  it,  but  that  the  largest  class  of  believers  is 

10  "  The  Belief  in  God  and  Immortality."     Chap.  IX. 

11  This  is  not  stated  explicitly  in  the  report,  but  comes  out  on  p.  431. — 
See  F.  C.  S.  Schiller:  "The  Answers  to  the  American  Branch's  Ques- 
tionnaire, regarding  Human  Sentiment  as  to  a  Future  Life."  P.  S.  P.  R., 
XVIII,  41G-53. 

12  The  only  question  on  my  questionnaire  referring  to  this  subject  read: 
"  Do  you  believe  in  personal  immortality  ?  If  so,  why  ?  "  There  was  no 
question  concerning  the  desire  for  a  future  life.  The  responses  that  I  re- 
ceived, however,  showed  plainly  that  desire  was  the  principal  cause  of  the 
belief. 


234  THE  KELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

made  up  of  those  whose  faith  is  based  chiefly  on  their  desire. 
The  word  "  chiefly,"  however,  must  not  be  left  out ;  for  it 
would  1)0  a  mistake  to  suppose  that  the  desire  for  a  future  life 
can  often  by  itself  produce  belief.  One  cannot  genuinely  desire 
what  one  fjcnuinely  believes  impossible  and  out  of  the  question. 
Hence  desire  must  be  helped  out  either  by  authority  or  by 
reason  or  bv  some  sort  of  intuition  or  feelin^:. 

The  nature  of  this  desire  varies  with  different  people.  The 
fundamental  as  well  as  the  most  wide-spread  and  influential 
form  of  it  is  simply  the  love  of  life  as  such,  the  instinctive  im- 
pulse which  normally  makes  men  cling  to  life,  however  wretched 
they  may  be.  In  the  words  of  Wijnsjendts  Francken,  *'  The  de- 
mand for  self-preservation  is  one  of  our  most  powerful  instincts ; 
it  transcends  the  tomb  itself,  for  the  desire  for  immortalitv  is 
nothing  else  than  one  form  of  the  search  for  self-preserva- 
tion." ^^  This  sometimes  expresses  itself  in  the  instinctive 
horror  at  the  thought  of  death  and  the  longing  to  avoid  it.  One 
of  the  earliest  recorded  expressions  of  desire  for  a  future  life 
is  of  this  naive  type.  It  was  written  many  thousands  of  years 
ago  by  some  Egyptian,  to  whom  the  hope  of  personal  immortal- 
ity was  somehow  bound  up  w4th  the  hope  that  his  body  might 
avoid  the  horrors  of  disintegration.  In  contrast  to  the  usual 
coldly  conventional  tone  of  the  Book  of  the  Dead,  this  cry  of 
a  longing  soul  comes  to  our  ears  to-day,  through  no  one  knows 
how  many  millenniums,  with  a  note  of  earnest  human  appeal  and 
a  touch  of  nature  that  makes  us  feel  him  truly  our  kin.  "  Grant 
thou,"  he  prays  to  the  God  Osiris,  "  that  I  may  enter  into  the 
land  of  everlastingness,  according  to  that  which  w^as  done  for 
thee,  whose  body  never  saw  corruption.  .  .  .  Let  not  my  body 
become  w^orms,  but  deliver  me  as  thou  didst  thvself.  .  .  .  Let 
life  come  from  the  body's  death  and  let  not  decay  caused  by  any 
reptile  make  an  end  of  me.  Homage  to  thee,  O  my  divine 
father  Osiris,  thou  hast  thy  being  with  thy  members.  Thou 
didst  not  decay,  thou  didst  not  become  worms,  thou  didst  not 
diminish,   thou   didst   not  become  corruption,   thou   didst  not 

13  "  Psychologie  de  la  Croyance  en  I'lmmortalit^."  Rev.  Philosophique, 
LVI,  278.  While  it  is  hardly  correct  to  speak  of  the  "  instinct  of  self- 
preservation,"  there  is  a  certain  truth  behind  the  phrase.  For  a  discussion 
of  this  matter  see  Hocking,  "  Human  Nature  and  Its  Remaking,"  Chap.  X. 


THE  BELIEF  11^  IMMOKTALITY  235 

putrefy,  thou  didst  not  turn  into  worms.  I  shall  not  decay,  I 
shall  not  rot,  I  shall  not  putrefy,  I  shall  not  turn  into  worms. 
I  shall  have  my  being,  I  shall  have  my  being ;  I  shall  live,  I  shall 
live !  "  1^ 

Horror  at  the  destruction  of  the  body  of  course  plays  no  part 
in  the  desire  for  immortality  to-day.  But  dread,  or  at  least 
dislike,  of  annihilation  and  the  instinctive  clinging  to  life 
that  Mr.  Francken  refers  to,  are  with  many  still  as  strong  as 
was  fear  of  the  tomb  with  the  ancient  Egyptian.  Twenty-two 
per  cent,  of  Schiller's  respondents  asserted  that  they  preferred 
a  future  life  of  any  sort  to  annihilation.  Three  very  typical 
answers  to  the  question  (in  my  students'  questionnaires), 
"  Why  do  you  want  a  future  life  ?  "  were  the  following :  "  Be- 
cause I  do  not  like  the  thought  of  empty  nothingness  beyond  the 
grave."  ^'  To  ask  if  I  want  a  state  after  death  is  much  such  a 
question  as.  Do  you  want  life  ?  —  I  think  it  is  fair  to  say.  Cer- 
tainly I  want  life  after  death  as  well  as  before  —  an  after  life 
not  as  a  reward,  etc.,  but  because  this  inner  spiritual  life  is 
the  greatest  thing  in  the  world."  "  Because  I  decidedly  dislike 
the  idea  of  leaving  the  world  and  things  to  go  on  without  me, 
rather  than  because  life  is  so  pleasant.  I  do  not  care  to  be 
snuffed  out  like  the  light  of  a  candle."  This  last  response  is 
typical  both  in  the  love  of  life  it  shows  and  also  by  its  negative 
reference  to  the  expected  happiness  of  the  next  world.  Very 
few  of  my  respondents  made  much  of  the  prospect  of  eternal 
bliss;  and  Schiller  reports  the  same  fact  as  true  of  the  re- 
sponses to  the  S.  P.  R.  questionnaire.  Possibly  I  should  men- 
tion one  kind  of  happiness  as  an  exception  to  this  statement; 
for  the  hope  of  reunion  with  one's  friends  is  certainly  one  of  the 
very  largest  factors  in  the  desire  for  immortality.  One  respon- 
dent writes :  "  I  desire  future  life  partly  because  extinction  is 
a  horrible  thought.  Above  all,  however,  it  is  love  that  leads 
me  on.  I  have  always  felt  the  most  burning  love  for  my  ab- 
solutely devoted  mother,  and  when  she  was  so  prematurely  taken 
from  me,  it  became  the  cry  of  my  life  to  be  with  her."  ^^     This, 

14  "The   Book  of  the  Dead,"  translated  by  E.  A.  W.  Budge    (Chicago, 
Open  Court:    1901),  Chap.  CLIV. 

15  This  factor  in  the  desire  for  immortality  might  be  illustrated  by  an 
almost  endless  number  of  examples.     I  take  one  at  random  from  Arreat's 


236  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

indeed,  can  hardly  be  called  the  desire  for  happiness,  nor  do 
most  of  the  other  descriptions  of  what  my  respondents  desire 
and  hope  to  do  in  the  next  life  imply  a  hedonistic  basis  for  the 
demand.  The  desire  for  moral  progress,  for  enlarged  service, 
and  for  a  better  opportunity  for  those  who  have  had  no  chance 
here  are  mentioned  not  infrequently  among  the  reasons  why  im- 
mortality is  wished  for.^®  But  quite  as  common  as  this  desire 
for  a  future  life  on  its  own  account  is  the  demand  that  it  shall 
exist  in  order  to  give  meaning  and  purpose  to  this.  One 
thoughtful  woman  writes:  '^  I  believe  in  personal  immortality 
because  I  cannot  think  in  any  other  terms.  Life  to  have  any 
meaning  or  reason  for  being  must  continue,  and  (whether  partly 
from  training  and  continual  habit  I  am  not  sure)  I  find  it  im- 
possible to  think  at  all  in  any  other  way.  It  is  a  postulate; 
not  arrived  at  by  any  course  of  reasoning,  and  without  it  life 
would  be  horrible."  In  a  less  extreme  form  this  same  attitude 
is  expressed  by  Mr.  Lowes  Dickinson  in  his  own  personal  confes- 
sion embedded  in  his  Ingersoll  Lecture :  "  I  find  then  that,  to 
me,  in  my  present  experience,  the  thing  that  at  bottom  matters 
most  is  the  sense  I  have  of  something  in  me  making  for  more 
life  and  better.  All  my  pain  is  at  last  a  feeling  of  the  frustra- 
tion of  this;  all  my  happiness  a  feeling  of  its  satisfaction.  It 
governs  all  my  experience,  and  determines  all  my  judgments  of 
value.  .  .  .  The  Goods  we  have  here  are  real  Goods,  and  we 
may  find  the  Evil  more  than  compensated  by  them.  But  what 
I  do  maintain  is  that  life  here  would  have  indefinitely  more 
value  if  we  knew  that  beyond  death  we  should  pursue,  and  ul- 
timatelv  to  a  successful  issue,  the  elusive  ideal  of  which  we  are 
always  in  quest.  The  conception  that  death  ends  all  does  not 
empty  life  of  its  worth,  but  it  destroys,  in  my  judgment,  its 
most  precious  element,  that  which  transfigures  all  the  rest:  it 

"  Le  Sentiment  Religieux  en  France"  (Paris,  Alcan:  1903),  which  is 
typical  of  many:  "  J'ai  besoin  de  croiro  que  les  etres  que  nous  avons 
tant  aim^s  ne  nous  sont  pas  arrach^s  brutalement  pour  toujours.  Sans 
religion,  la  vie  ne  vaut  pas  la  peine  d'etre  vecue:  elle  est  notre  seule  raison 
d'etre"   (p.  123  — in  the  Appendix). 

16  One  respondent  (who  surely  is  not  typical)  writes  that  he  wants  a 
future  life  "  to  carry  on  the  great  missionary  plans  of  God  to  millions  of 
spirits  who  need  to  know  the  story  of  redeeming  Love!  To  preach  and 
testify  this  to  myriads  of  angels  will  keep  them  from  falling  from  holi- 
ness forever." 


THE  BELIEF  m  IMMOETALITY  237 

obliterates  the  gleam  on  the  snow,  the  planet  in  the  east;  it 
shuts  off  the  great  adventure  beyond  death."  ^^ 

These  testimonies  bring  us  back  again  to  that  inherent  de- 
mand for  conscious  life  as  such,  for  an  endless  continuation  of 
spiritual  opportunity,  which  is  at  the  bottom  of  so  much  of  the 
earnest  desire  for  immortality.  As  we  have  seen,  it  is  based 
upon  an  instinct  —  if,  indeed,  it  be  not  ultimately  based  on 
something  deeper  still  —  and  it  manifests  itself  through  all 
grades  of  spiritual  development,  from  the  unthinking,  organic 
fear  of  death,  up  to  the  longing  of  the  artist,  the  philosopher, 
and  the  mystic.  "  Feeling  one's  exquisite  curiosity  about  the 
Universe  fed  and  fed,  rewarded  and  rewarded  "  in  an  unending 
life,  would  be,  in  the  opinion  of  Henry  James,  the  greatest  ar- 
tistic delight,  the  highest  conceivable  good  —  "a  million  times 
better  than  not  living."  ^^  The  scientific  desire  to  know  and  to 
keep  on  knowing  is  another  form  of  the  same  demand  for  life. 
Many  a  scientist,  in  order  to  attain  a  pure  objectivity,  seeks  to 
kill  out  this  desire  so  far  as  it  relates  to  a  continuation  of  the 
knowing  process  after  the  death  of  the  body  —  though  the  posi- 
tion of  earnestly  desiring  and  eagerly  delighting  in  the  knowing 
process,  and  at  the  same  time  being  perfectly  willing  that  it 
should  cease  altogether  on  the  occurrence  of  some  perfectly  ir- 
relevant physical  accident  seems,  to  say  the  least,  highly  arti- 
ficial and  something  closely  resembling  a  pose.  But  though 
many  scientists  seem  to  hold  this  attitude  as  an  ideal,  not  all 
succeed  in  realizing  it.  One  of  the  most  "  objective  "  of  scien- 
tists —  Thomas  Huxley  —  toward  the  close  of  his  life  wrote  to 
his  friend  Morley :  "  It  is  a  curious  thing  that  I  find  my  dis- 
like to  the  thought  of  extinction  increasing  as  I  get  older  and 
nearer  the  goal.  It  flashes  across  me  at  all  sorts  of  times  and 
with  a  sort  of  horror  that  in  1900  I  shall  probably  know  no 
more  of  what  is  going  on  than  I  did  in  1800.  I  had  sooner 
be  in  hell  a  good  deal  —  a4  any  rate  in  one  of  the  upper  circles 
where  the  climate  and  company  are  not  too  trying."  ^^ 

This  demand  for  unobstructed  life,  for  life  in  the  fullest  sense 

17  Op.  cit.,  pp.  30-33. 

18  See  the  Literary  Digest  for  March,  1910,  p.  303. 

19  "  Life  and  Letters  of  Thomas  Huxley"   (New  York,  Appleton:   1901), 
Vol.  11,  p.  67. 


238  THE  KELiGlOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

that  the  individual  can  conceive,  which  is  seen  in  the  common 
man,  the  artist,  and  the  scientist  is  seen  again  in  the  longings  of 
the  saint  and  mystic.  "  If  to  anv  man,"  writes  Augustine, 
**  the  tumults  of  flesh  be  silenced,  if  fancies  of  the  earth  and 
waters  and  air  be  silenced  also;  if  the  poles  of  heaven  be  silent 
also,  and  if  lie  speak  alone;  not  by  them  but  by  Himself,  that 
we  may  hear  his  own  word ;  not  pronounced  by  any  tongue  of 
flesh,  nor  by  the  voice  of  angels,  nor  by  the  sound  of  thunder, 
nor  in  the  dark  riddle  of  a  resemblance ;  but  that  we  may  hear 
Him  whom  we  love  in  these  creatures.  Himself  without  these ; 
could  this  exaltation  for  ever  continue  and  ever  ravish  us  and 
swallow  us  up,  and  so  wrap  up  their  beholder  among  these  more 
inward  joys  as  that  his  life  might  be  forever  like  to  this  very 
moment  of  understanding  which  we  now  sigh  after;  were  not 
this  indeed  to  Enter  into  Thv  Master's  lov  ?  "  ^^ 

Before  concluding  this  chapter  it  will,  I  think,  be  worth  our 
while  to  supplement  our  study  of  belief  with  a  short  study  of 
unbelief.  Having  seen  some  of  the  psychological  sources  of 
belief  in  a  future  life,  w^e  may  now  ask.  What  are  the  psycho- 
logical influences  involved  in  the  doubt  or  denial  of  a  future 
life  ?  In  a  general  way,  of  course,  the  answer  is  to  be  found 
in  the  absence  of  those  causes  which  our  study  has  shown  U8 
lead  to  belief.  In  the  first  place  we  must  recognize  that  a 
fairly  large  number  of  persons  have  no  real  desire  for  life  after 
death. '^  The  causes  of  this  indifference  are  not  easy  to  ascer- 
tain with  any  degree  of  completeness  or  exactitude.  Possibly 
some  guidance  may  be  found  in  a  comparison  of  our  times  with 
the  Middle  Ages.  The  apparent  loss  of  desire  for  a  future  life 
in  the  last  500  years  is  due  in  part  to  the  greater  attractiveness 
of  this  world  in  our  times  and  the  increase  of  interests  of  all 
sorts  which  keep  one's  attention  too  firmly  fastened  here  to  al- 
low of  much  thought  being  spent  on  the  other  world.  As  peo- 
ple cease  to  think  about  a  future  life  it  becomes  less  vivid  to 
them  and  hence  less  an  object  of  desire.  The  shattering  of 
authority  and  the  weakening  in  popular  estimation  of  the  argu- 
ments in  its  favor  have  also  had  the  same  tendency  of  making 

20  "  Confessions,"  Bk.  IX,  Chap.  X. 

21  Leuba  cites  many  examples  of  indifference  and  even  of  dislike  to  a  fu- 
ture life.      (Op.  oil.,  pp.  297-311.) 


THE  BELIEF  1^  IMMORTALITY  239 

it  seem  less  real  and  hence  less  genuinely  longed  for.  Eor  de- 
sire and  belief  are  mutually  helpful ;  not  only  does  desire  tend 
to  beget  belief,  but  some  sort  of  belief  in  at  least  the  possi- 
bility of  the  object  is  a  condition  of  any  real  desire  for  it.  In 
the  15th  and  16th  centuries  men  so  desired  the  spring  of  per- 
petual youth  that  they  were  willing  to  risk  all  they  had  in  the 
search  for  it.  Youth  is  no  less  loved  to-day,  but  it  can  hardly 
be  said  that  any  one  ardently  desires  to  discover  a  spring  whose 
magical  water  would  make  it  perpetual.  We  do  not  desire  it  as 
our  ancestors  did  because  we  no  longer  harbor  it  in  our  thoughts 
as  a  genuinely  possible  object  of  discovery.  Other  causes  for 
the  loss  of  desire  for  immortality  besides  its  lessening  vividness 
are  of  course  at  work  in  various  individuals  —  and  always  have 
been.  Distaste  for  life  in  general,  weariness,  and  dread  of  re- 
sponsibility, tend  to  make  one  look  forward  to  death  as  the 
definitive  end  with  carelessness  or  even  with  longing.  ^^  Cases 
of  this  sort,  however,  are  not  common,  and  are  probably  little 
commoner  to-day  than  in  previous  ages.  The  great  cause  of 
the  loss  of  desire  is  the  indifference  described  above,  due  to 
the  disappearance  of  the  vitality  of  belief. 

I  have  no  idea  to  what  extent  the  change  in  the  intellectual 
atmosphere  of  modern  society  has  undermined  emotional  belief, 
but  there  can  be  no  doubt  that  it  has  been  the  great  factor  in 
weakening  belief  from  authority.  And  here  the  various  argu- 
ments against  human  survival  of  death  have  been  reinforced  by 
all  the  rationalistic  influences  of  every  sort  that  have  been 
steadily  wearing  away  the  authority  of  Bible,  Church,  and  tra- 
dition these  many  years.  Hence  from  several  sides  is  borne 
in  upon  us  the  immense  influence  of  thought  in  determining  be- 
lief. ^^     This  influence  as  it  comes  to  bear  upon  the  individual 

22  Leuba  sums  up  the  causes  for  this  loss  of  desire  as  he  views  them  in 
the  following  words :  "  A  weariness  of  existence,  temperamental  or  the 
fruit  of  age  or  of  other  circumstances;  a  disposition  to  enjoy  the  mood 
that  informs  Bryant's  noble  poem,  Thanatopsis;  and  especially,  perhaps, 
an  inability  to  picture  in  intelligible  and  acceptable  form  a  future  life, 
suiiice  to  make  of  a  death  that  ends  all  a  satisfactory,  even  a  desirable 
goal."     (Op.  cit.,  p.  301.) 

23  Dr.  E.  Griffith-Jones,  in  an  excellent  little  book  on  "  Faith  and  Im- 
mortality" (New  York,  Scribner's:  1917),  brings  out  one  intellectual  in- 
fluence —  a  theological  one  —  which  I  have  not  mentioned,  but  which  has 
probably   had   some   eflFect   in   weakening   the   faith   of   certain   classes   of 


240  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

is  largely  indirect  aud  largely  negative,  and  for  that  reason 
when  one  studies  the  particular  positive  beliefs  of  individual 
men  and  women,  thought  seems  to  have  a  very  second  rate  —  or 
fourth  rate  —  position.  But  when  we  take  into  consideration 
the  movement  of  society  during  several  centuries  we  see  that 
the  iuHuence  of  thought  (directly  upon  society  and  indirectly 
upon  the  individual)  is  of  prime  importance  —  something  too 
often  forgotten  by  the  enthusiastic  anti-intellectualism  of  our 
day.  In  fact  it  would  be  a  mistake  to  say  that  thought  modifies 
the  individual's  belief  only  indirectly ;  for  if  we  take  into  ac- 
count its  negative  and  destructive  influence,  its  action  is  cer- 
tainly direct  enough ;  Spiddle  reports  that  nearly  all  of  his  re- 
spondents whose  belief  concerning  immortality  has  passed 
through  a  period  of  radical  change,  ascribed  this  change  to  the 
study  of  science  and  philosophy,^*  aud  in  this  his  responses 
were  surely  very  representative.  Among  the  college  students 
who  responded  to  Leuba's  questionnaire  there  was  a  steady  loss 
of  the  belief  with  academic  advance.  "  Only  fifteen  per  cent  of 
the  freshmen  reject  immortality  and  four  per  cent  are  uncer- 
tain ;  while  nearly  thirty-two  per  cent  of  the  juniors  have  given 
it  up,  and  eight  per  cent  more  are  uncertain.  The  cause  of  this 
Leuba  finds  not  so  much  in  increased  knowledge  as  in  increased 
individualism  and  freedom  from  the  authoritative  creeds  that 
dominate  childhood.     That  both  the  intellectual  and  the  indi- 

Bociety.  He  attributes  the  loss  of  belief  in  a  future  life  to  the  cooperation 
of  three  factors:  (1)  the  spread  of  natural  science  with  its  rationalistic 
and  skeptical  tendencies,  (2)  the  centering  of  the  modern  man's  interest  in 
this  world,  (3)  the  inability  of  contemporary  theologians  to  agree  on  any 
doctrine  as  to  the  nature  of  the  next  life,  with  the  resulting  conflict  of 
rival  theories  which  utterly  bewilder  the  layman  and  make  him  feel  that 
there  is  no  definite  doctrine  of  immortality  in  which  he  can  rest.  Espe- 
cially has  this  been  the  result  of  recent  discussion  by  Biblical  critics  of 
the  eschatological  passages  in  the  New  Testament.  "  Science  and  theology 
during  the  last  quarter  of  a  century  have  thus  cooperated  from  different 
points  of  view  in  disturbing  the  sure  foundations  of  the  earlier  belief  in  a 
future  state;  the  first  by  making  it  difficult  to  believe  that  the  '  soul  '  can 
survive  the  body,  or  whether  there  was  a  '  soul '  to  survive  at  all ;  and  the 
second  by  bringing  the  scriptural  evidence  as  to  what  follows  death  into 
uttermost  discord  and  confusion.  It  is  no  wonder  that  in  face  of  these 
contrary  winds  of  doctrine  the  light  began  to  flicker  and  burn  dimly  on 
the  altar  of  the  Immortal  Hope"  (p.  30). 
2*  "  The  Belief  in  Immortality,"  p.  47. 


THE  BELIEF  IN  IMMORTALITY  241 

vidualistic  factors  continue  their  negating  influence  after  gradu- 
ation from  college  seems  to  be  indicated  by  Leuba's  figures 
concerning  American  scholars,  whose  belief  in  a  future  life 
(according  to  the  results  of  his  questionnaire)  are  represented 
by  the  following  figures:  among  physical  scientists  50.7%  be- 
lieve in  immortality;  biologists  37%;  historians  51.5%;  psy- 
chologists 19.8%.  It  is  especially  significant  that  the  percent- 
age of  believers  among  the  more  eminent  psychologists  was  only 
8.8.^^  These  figures  are,  of  course,  quite  exceptionally  low;  yet 
in  the  case  even  of  those  who  do  not  go  into  any  scholarly  pro- 
fession, an  increased  individualism  guided  by  certain  destruc- 
tive arguments  leads  not  indeed  to  the  complete  loss  of  belief  in 
immortality,  but  to  the  placing  of  it  upon  a  shelf  in  the  mind, 
among  those  things  which  are  merely  and  abstractly  possible. 

This  happens  more  frequently  and  more  easily  to-day  because 
of  the  psychological  atmosphere  that  has  been  produced  by  the 
successive  triumphs  of  natural  science.  Students  of  science 
are  less  likely  to  believe  in  immortality  than  others,  not  be- 
cause the  arguments  against  it  are  stronger  than  those  for  it, 
nor  yet  because  they  see  the  logical  difiiculties  in  the  way  of 
immortality  more  clearly  than  do  those  whose  thought  has  been 
engaged  chiefly  in  other  lines,  but  largely  because  their  training 
has  produced  in  them  a  habit  of  regarding  the  scientific  laws  of 
the  material  world  with  the  same  sort  of  reverence  that  the  old- 
fashioned  Christian  feels  toward  the  teaching  of  Scripture. 
Leuba's  figures,  just  quoted,  illustrate  this  point  rather  nicely. 
While  scientists  as  a  class  are  less  likely  to  believe  in  the  sur- 
vival of  bodily  death  than  others,  there  are,  as  we  have  seen, 
significant  differences  between  different  classes  of  scientists. 
If  the  reader  will  look  back  at  the  statistics  on  the  subject,  he 
will  see  that  over  fifty  per  cent  of  the  historians  and  physical 
scientists  believe  in  immortality,  while  among  the  biologists 
and  psychologists  the  percentage  of  belief  is  notably  lower. 
This  fact  is  undoubtedly  due  to  the  constant  effort  made  by  both 
the  latter  classes  to  view  the  phenomena  of  life  and  mind  in 
terms  of  something  like  mechanical  sequence ;  an  effort  which 

25  «  The  Belief  in  God  and  Immortality,"  Chaps.  VIII  and  IX. 


242  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

with  some  has  become  a  habit,  and  by  some  is  regarded  as  a 
presupposition  of  scientific  procedure. 

The  truth  is,  non-belief,  like  belief,  draws  its  strength  not 
only  from  reason  but  from  authority;  in  fact,  for  many  en- 
thusiastic students  of  science  the  will  to  believe  has  a  good  deal 
to  do  with  the  result.  In  certain  scientific  circles  it  is  not 
good  form  to  believe  in  a  future  life;  and  the  ascetic  ideal  which 
would  sacrifice  selfish  interests  for  the  personal  values  of  science 
also  conies  into  play.  Moreover  non-belief,  like  belief,  is  a 
product  not  merely  of  logical  argument,  authority,  habit,  and 
volition,  but  is  largely  influenced  also  by  the  imagination ;  and 
the  peculiarly  objective  point  of  view  which  natural  science 
inculcates  and  the  habit  it  produces  of  considering  causation 
and  the  laws  of  matter  universal  and  invariable  give  a  certain 
cast  to  the  imagination  which  makes  the  idea  of  the  survival  of 
bodily  death  increasingly  difficult. 

This  question  of  the  imagination  is  most  fundamental  to  the 
understanding  of  belief  and  disbelief.  In  the  early  part  of 
our  last  chapter,  when  discussing  the  psychology  of  belief  in 
general,  we  saw  the  enormous  part  played  by  the  imagination 
in  producing  the  vividness  of  reality  feeling.  It  is  very  difiicult 
to  believe  earnestly  in  anything  that  we  can  in  no  way  image 
to  ourselves ;  and  this  general  fact  finds  ample  application  and 
illustration  in  the  field  under  discussion.  Though  no  doubt 
there  are  exceptions,  it  is  still  a  very  general  truth  that  those 
who  deny  a  future  life  are  those  who  find  it  impossible  to 
imagine  it  in  vivid  and  persuasive  fashion ;  while  they  have 
few  doubts  on  the  subject  who  find  little  difficulty  in  imagining 
it  and  who  perhaps  would  find  it  difficult  to  imagine  death  end- 
ing all.  Belief  and  disbelief  would  therefore  seem,  in  one 
sense,  to  be  correlative  to  two  types  of  imagination  or  two 
points  of  view  from  which  the  imagination  regards  the  future 
life. 

We  can  best  get  at  these  two  types  of  imagination  by  contrast- 
ing two  classes  of  person  who  are  knowTi  to  have  quite  different 
views  on  the  subject  of  immortality.  Perhaps  no  large  class 
of  men  are  more  given  to  a  skeptical  or  even  materialistic  view 
on  this  subject  than  physicians;  and  probably  none  have  more 
genuine  faith  in  a  future  life  than  clergymen.     Doubtless  dif- 


THE  BELIEF  IN  IMMORTALITY  243 

ferences  of  opinion  on  authority  and  on  the  logic  of  various  ar- 
guments has  much  to  do  with  this  difference  of  belief ;  but  these 
things  do  not  fully  explain  the  contrast.  The  physician  finds 
it  hard  to  imagine,  with  any  reality-feeling,  life  after  death, 
while  the  clerg-jnuan  finds  it  easy  to  do  so.  The  reason  for  this 
is  largely  to  be  found  in  the  fact  that  the  physician  tends  to 
think  of  death  from  the  point  of  view  of  the  body,  and  that 
death  means  to  him  usually  the  death  of  some  one  else ;  whereas 
the  clergyman  views  death  more  subjectively  and  from  the  point 
of  view  of  the  "  soul."  The  physician  takes  the  objective  view 
of  death.  All  his  experience,  his  training,  his  daily  work,  his 
professional  habits  of  thought,  lead  him  to  this.  Inevitably 
death  means  to  him  the  ceasing  to  function  of  certain  vital  or- 
gans. Thus  it  comes  about  that  even  when  he  thinks  of  his 
own  death  he  pictures  it  also  objectively  —  externally;  he  sees 
his  body  lying  on  a  bed,  his  heart  ceasing  to  beat,  his  respiration 
stopped.  Those  manifestations  of  life  in  which  he  is  profes- 
sionally interested  he  pictures  at  an  end ;  and  that  means  to  him 
that  life  has  ceased.  As  dies  the  beast,  so  dies  the  man  —  liter- 
ally true  from  an  external  view  point  certainly.  As  this  habit 
of  thought  grows  upon  the  physician  or  scientist  he  finds  it  in- 
creasingly difficult  to  hold  alongside  with  it  the  old  view,  taught 
him  in  childhood,  that  conscious  life  continues  beyond  the 
grave.  To  believe  it  might  be  logical  enough,  but  he  finds  it 
very  hard  to  imagine  with  any  lively  sense  of  reality. 

The  clergyman,  on  the  other  hand,  thinks  of  death,  as  I  have 
said,  from  the  point  of  view  of  the  "  soul."  Death  means  to 
him  primarily  his  death;  that  is  the  type  of  death  for  him. 
He  thinks  of  other  people's  death  as  meaning  what  his  own 
death  would  mean.  That  is,  he  views  death  from  the  subjec- 
tive, or,  rather,  the  inner  point  of  view.  Very  likely  he  knows 
little  enough  about  the  physiology  of  death :  or  if  he  is  versed  in 
this  aspect  of  the  case  it  is  not  this  primarily  that  he  thinks 
about.  Death  means  to  him  a  form  of  subjective  experience, 
not  a  physiological  phenomenon.  His  whole  training  and  his 
daily  work  enforce  this  view.  As  a  result  it  is  very  easy  for 
him  to  imagine  a  continuation  of  conscious  existence  after 
death;  in  faet,  it  may  be  difficult  for  him  to  imagine  the  con- 
trary.    And  of  course  not  only  is  this  true  of  ministers  but  it 


244  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

holds  frequently  of  many  other  men  whose  thonp^hts  are  habitu- 
ally occupied  with  the  spiritual  and  inner  side  of  life.  Goethe 
is  quoted  as  sayinfjj,  "  It  is,  to  a  thinking  being,  quite  impossible 
to  think  himself  non-existent,  ceasing  to  think  and  live."  This, 
as  I  have  pointed  out,  is  the  natural  attitude  of  the  untaught 
mind.  It  is  with  a  tremendous  shock  of  surprise  that  the  child 
learns  he  must  some  day  die ;  and  for  a  considerable  time  most 
children  probably  refuse  really  to  believe  it.  The  belief  that 
life  as  a  matter  of  course  wull  not  end  seems  to  be  almost  as 
natural  as  the  desire  that  it  should  continue.  The  idea  that 
life  will  end  may  be  logical  but  it  is  an  acquired  and  secondary 
product. 

"  All  men  think  all  men  mortal  but  themselves." 

^  There  are  several  reasons  for  this.  Eor  one  thing,  it  is  hard 
to  think  of  the  world  continuing  to  run  along  and  we  not  here 
to  witness  it.  We  are  all  incipient  Berkleyans,  at  least  to  the 
extent  that  in  our  images  of  various  external  events  there  is 
usually,  in  the  background  of  our  minds,  an  implicit  recognition 
of  the  relation  or  possible  relation  of  the  event  to  us.  We 
picture  ourselves  as  the  hidden  beholders  of  all  that  we  imagine. 
More  important  than  this  is  the  fact  that  the  thought  of  one- 
self ceasing  to  exist  is  most  difficult  for  the  natural  man, 
quite  aside  from  his  relation  to  the  external  world.  Our  past 
experience  of  consciousness  is  of  a  stream  which,  in  spite  of  its 
temporary  breaks  in  sleep,  still  seems  to  us  really  continuous 
and  without  conscious  beginning  or  end.  We  have  gone  to  sleep 
many  times,  but  always  to  wake  once  more.  We  have  got  into 
the  habit  of  being  alive.  Hence  the  association  of  non-being 
with  ourselves  is  unnatural  and  difficult.  Nor  do  past  exper- 
ience and  the  laws  of  association  and  habit  explain  the  whole 
matter.  Life  somehow  feels  itself  and  wills  itself  to  be  endless 
—  not  explicitly,  but  by  a  violent  reaction  against  the  idea  of 
extinction.  To  look  at  oneself  objectively,  from  an  exterior 
point  of  view,  as  one  of  those  things  which  may  cease  to  be,  re- 
quires a  considerable  degree  of  sophistication,  and  both  in  the 
individual  and  in  the  race  ^®  it  is  learned  only  with  difficulty. 

26  In  this  native  difficulty  of  imagining  one-self  really  dead  is  to  be  found, 


THE  BELIEF  IK  IMMORTALITY  245 

The  two  types  of  imagination  that  I  have  been  describing  — 
the  external  and  the  inner  —  are  to  be  found  not  only  in  differ- 
ent individuals  with  different  kinds  of  training ;  they  may  alter- 
nate within  the  same  individual  under  varying  circumstances. 
If  I  may  take  myself  as  an  example,  I  find  my  own  belief  in 
a  future  life  at  its  strongest  when  thinking  of  my  own  death. 
Ak  such  a  time  it  is  unnatural  for  me  to  take  any  but  the  sub- 
jective and  inner  point  of  view;  so  that  the  thought  often  gives 
me  a  kind  of  secret  exhilaration  such  as  one  feels  who  sees 
his  enemy  in  the  distance  and  cries,  "  Come  on !  "  But  when  I 
see  a  person  die  I  am  sometimes  very  skeptical.  I  remember 
seeing  a  man  run  over  by  a  train,  and  being  surprised  to  find 
how  hard  it  was  for  me  to  believe  that  the  man's  consciousness 
still  existed  or  would  ever  exist  again. 

But  difficulties  connected  with  the  imagination  are  responsi- 
ble for  another  source  of  weakness  in  the  belief  in  immortality, 
in  addition  to  this  objective  and  external  mode  of  representa- 
tion. Belief  in  an  abstract  truth,  a  truth  which  can  be  con- 
ceived but  not  imagined,  is  usually  cold  and  lacking  in  that 
vividness  which  is  the  primitive  touch-stone  of  reality.  The 
more  concrete  details  that  can  be  added  to  our  mental  picture, 
the  more  real  does  it  become  to  us.  This  increased  sense  of 
reality  through  imagined  details  is  the  effect  which  the  historical 
novel  has  —  or  should  have  —  upon  the  reader.  It  makes 
Louis  XI  or  Richard  I  real  and  living  to  us  by  supplying  a 
host  of  concrete  details  which  add  the  very  warmth  of  life 
to  characters  that  had  been  but  names  before.  Now  it  is  the 
impossibility  of  surrounding  the  idea  of  the  next  world  with 
any  concrete  details  which  are  not  themselves  almost  impossible, 
that  makes  the  belief  in  question  so  hard  for  many  to  retain. 
If  the  departed  really  still  have  conscious  existence,  what  are 
they  doing?  What  are  the  conditions  of  their  life?  What 
are  their  emplo;)Tiients  and  their  pleasures  ?  If  we  allow  our- 
selves to  ponder  over  these  questions  most  of  us  will  find  our 
notion  of  a  future  life  taking  on  the  color  of  a  fairy  tale.  The 
questions,  if  we  face  them  steadily,  demand  some  kind  of  an- 
swer ;  and  yet  almost  any  conceivable  answer  put  in  vivid  detail 

in  my  opinion,  one  of  the  original  sources  of  the  belief  in  a  future  life  Lt 
least  as  important  as  seeing  ghosts  in  dreams. 


24G  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

will  make  the  belief  all  the  more  difficult.  The  historical  at- 
tempts that  have  been  made  to  picture  the  next  world  so  as  to 
give  it  the  reality-feeling  that  comes  from  vivid  images,  have 
all  had  but  very  moderate  and  temporary  success.  From  the 
Book  of  the  Dead,  throu^rh  Virgil,  Dante,  Milton,  down  to  Gates 
Ajar,  and  the  descriptions  in  our  h^Tnn  books,  they  all  seem 
either  mythical  or  puerile,  so  far  as  they  are  given  in  terms  of 
detailed  imagination.  And  the  same  thing  surely  is  true  of  the 
Book  of  Eevelation.  The  Bible  elsewhere  on  this  point  is 
wisely  reticent.  Jesus  had  no  descriptive  phrases  for  the  life 
of  heaven  which  were  anything  more  than  plainly  symbolic. 
And  his  immediate  followers  perceived  the  wisdom  of  his  ex- 
ample. ^'  Eye  hath  not  seen  nor  ear  heard,  neither  hath  entered 
into  the  heart  of  man  the  things  that  God  hath  prepared  for 
them  that  love  Him." 

For  from  the  nature  of  the  case,  all  the  material  for  the 
details  of  another  life  must  be  dravni  from  this;  and  yet  it  is 
plain  that  if  there  is  a  future  life  (unless  we  adopt  the  con- 
ception of  reincarnation)  it  must  be  in  many  of  its  details  and 
surroundings  very  different  from  this.  Hence  the  ascription 
to  it  of  images  drawn  from  this  life  strikes  us  as  inharmonious 
and  incongruous.  The  idea  therefore  never  gets  dressed  out  in 
the  details  which  are  so  helpful  in  imparting  reality-feeling,  and 
for  most  of  us  it  remains  always  largely  abstract  and  verbal. 
Hence  the  large  number  of  people  who,  while  not  denying  it, 
and  even  willing  to  say  that  they  suppose  they  believe  in  it, 
are  quite  indifferent  to  it  and  never  give  it  a  thought.  The 
imaginative  difficulties  in  it  are  such  that  it  resembles  one  of 
those  small  stars  which  can  be  seen  only  by  indirect  vision,  and 
which  disappear  when  looked  at  directly.  Many  people  find 
that  their  belief  in  immortality  is  strongest  when  they  think 
least  about  it. 

There  are  two  or  three  classes  of  people  whose  faith  in  a 
future  life  is  not  greatly  affected  by  the  difficulties  we  have 
been  discussing.  These  are,  in  the  first  place,  that  small  class 
of  thinkers  who  have  trained  themselves  to  live  so  constantly  in 
a  world  of  concepts  that  lack  of  imaginative  vividness  is  no  loss. 
Much  larger  is  the  class  of  uncritical  believers,  whose  faith  is 
based  upon  authority,  and  who  either  find  no  difficulty  in  ac- 


THE  BELIEF  IIS^  IMMOETALITY  247 

cepting  the  pictures  in  the  Revelation ,  or  else  possess  so  strong 
a  faith  that  difficulties  in  imagining  a  future  life  are  powerless 
against  it.  A  smaller  but  in  many  ways  more  interesting  class 
are  the  mystics.  For  them  the  difficulties  which  others  feel  are 
not  overcome  but  quite  lacking.  They  will  tell  you  that  they 
can  not  only  conceive  but  imagine  —  or  rather  directly  ex- 
perience —  what  the  future  life  will  be,  at  least  in  its  most  im- 
portant aspect.  For  them  the  most  significant  feature  of  that 
life  will  be  its  union  with  the  Divine ;  and  this  is  for  them,  they 
insist,  no  mere  verbal  phrase  nor  abstract  idea  nor  pious  hope, 
but  a  genuine  and  very  real  experience  of  this  present  life. 
People  such  as  these  need  no  detailed  descriptions  of  how  the 
dead  are  raised  up  or  with  what  body  they  shall  come.  The 
details  they  can  leave  with  perfect  confidence  for  the  future 
to  reveal.     The  substance  they  already  possess. 

For  the  great  majority  who  are  not  mystics,  however,  the 
difficulty  of  giving  the  future  life  any  imaginative  reality  must 
always  be  a  source  of  real  weakness  in  belief.  If  they  cling  to 
the  hope,  they  usually  avoid  any  serious  attempt  to  picture  the 
details  of  the  future  life,  either  dodging  the  question  altogether 
or  refusing  to  take  any  suggested  answer  seriously.  One  of  my 
respondents  —  a  student  of  natural  science,  who  yet  hopes  for 
and  believes  in  immortality  —  writes,  "  To  hold  this  faith  with- 
out picturing  the  nature  of  the  future  life  I  find  impossible, 
but  I  manage  with  ease  and  naturalness  to  keep  those  mental 
pictures  in  a  flux,  as  it  were,  making  them  the  poetry  of  my 
faith  without  giving  them  the  definiteness  which  would  chal- 
lenge my  own  scientific  criticism."  This  man's  position  is  the 
wise  one  for  most  people  who  desire  to  keep  their  faith.  Belief 
in  a  future  life,  like  belief  in  God,  is  usually  an  attitude,  a  way 
of  holding  oneself  in  relation  to  the  future,  quite  as  much  as  a 
definable  concept,  and  certainly  more  than  a  detailed  picture. 
To  try  to  turn  it  into  the  latter,  either  in  oneself  or  in  others, 
is  surely  unwise.  '^  How  are  the  dead  raised  up  and  with  what 
body  do  they  come  ?     Thou  fool !  '' 

These  then  are  some  of  the  psychological  influences  tending  to 
weaken  the  belief  in  a  future  life.  Having  considered  this  gen- 
eral question,  it  may  be  of  some  interest  to  consider  briefly  the 
more  special  question  of  the  weakening  of  this  belief  within 


248  XnE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

Christianity.  For  that  it  is  being  weakened  I  suppose  there 
is  little  doubt, *^  and  that  it  is  being  weakened  more  rapidly  in 
western  Christendom  than  in  other  parts  of  the  world  seems 
probable.  One  of  the  things  that  strikes  one  most  forcibly 
on  a  visit  to  India  —  at  least  if  I  may  trust  my  own  experi- 
ence —  is  the  vitality  of  the  belief  in  immortality  among  all 
classes  of  society  except  those  that  have  come  under  western 
influence.  Not  only  does  there  seem  to  be  comparatively  little 
theoretical  skepticism  on  the  subject;  the  belief  seems  to  hold  a 
vital  place  in  the  lives  of  a  surprisingly  large  proportion  of  the 
people.  The  chief  cause  for  this  contrast  is  undoubtedly  the 
fact  already  pointed  out,  that  modern  western  science  tends 
both  to  destroy  authority,  undermine  various  ancient  arguments 
in  favor  of  immortality,  and  also  induce  a  form  of  imagination 
distinctly  hostile  to  this  belief.  I  think,  however,  there  are 
several  additional  factors  which  give  Hinduism  a  certain  ad- 
vantage over  Christianity  in  nourishing  a  strong  belief  in  im- 
mortality.    One  of  them  is  connected  with  the  question  of  the 

27  Leuba  has  shown,  from  his  statistical  report,  how  surprisingly  small  a 
proportion  of  the  classes  of  people  he  investigated  really  care  deeply  for 
another  life.  Dr.  Schiller,  in  the  report  upon  his  questionnaire,  writes: 
"  On  the  whole  the  answers  to  this  question  seem  distinctly  unfavorable 
to  the  doctrine  that  the  interest  actually  taken  in  the  matter  of  a  future 
life  is  commensurate  with  its  spiritual  importance,  or  that  the  question 
looms  as  large  on  our  mental  horizon  as  tradition  had  assumed  "  (p.  429). 
Cf.  also  Schiller's  Essay  on  "  The  Desire  for  Immortality  "  in  Humanism 
(London,  Macmillan:  1912).  The  loss  of  interest  in  the  future  life  is 
summed  up  by  a  professor  of  Divinity  in  the  University  of  Cambridge  in 
the  following  trenchant  words :  "  Among  all  the  changes  which  have  come 
over  religious  and  theological  teaching  within  living  memory,  none  seems 
to  be  so  momentous  as  the  acute  secularizing  of  the  Christian  hope,  as 
shown  by  the  practical  disappearance  of  the  other  world  from  the  ser- 
mons and  writings  of  those  who  are  most  in  touch  with  the  thought  and 
aspirations  of  our  contemporaries."  (Quoted  by  Dr.  R.  F.  Cole  in  the 
Auburn  Sem,inary  Record  for  July,  1911,  p.  175.)  It  should,  however,  be 
remembered  that  the  opinions  quoted  in  this  note  were  expressed  before  the 
great  war;  and  that  since  then  a  very  deep-lying  and  wide-spread  interest 
in  the  possibility  of  a  future  life  has  been  revealed.  Indifference  to  the  na- 
ture of  the  future  life,  moreover,  must  not  be  taken  as  evidence  of  disbelief 
in  it.  Carrington  and  Meader,  in  the  responses  to  their  questionnaire  on 
the  nature  of  Death,  found  quite  as  striking  an  amount  of  indifference 
as  is  ever  met  with  in  circulating  a  questionnaire  on  immortality:  yet  one 
could  hardly  conclude  that  their  respondents  failed  to  believe  in  death. — 
See  their  "Death:  Its  Causes  and  Phenomena"  (New  York,  Funk  and 
Wagnalls:   1912),     Chap.  VIII. 


THE  BELIEF  IN  IMMOKTALITY  249 

imagination  already  discussed.  The  Hindu  finds  no  difficulty 
whatever  in  imagining  the  next  life,  for  his  belief  in  reincarna- 
tion teaches  him  that  it  will  be  just  this  life  over  again,  though 
possibly  at  a  slightly  different  social  level.  I  am  inclined  to 
think,  moreover,  that  the  Christian  and  the  Hindu  customs  of 
disposing  of  the  dead  body  may  have  something  to  do  with  this 
contrast  in  the  strength  of  their  beliefs.  Is  it  not  possible  that 
the  perpetual  presence  of  the  graves  of  our  dead  tends  to  make 
Christians  implicitly  identify  the  lost  friend  with  his  body,  and 
hence  fall  into  the  objective,  external  form  of  imagination  about 
death  that  so  weakens  belief  in  the  continued  life  of  the  soul  ? 
We  do  not  teach  this  view  to  our  children  in  words,  but  we 
often  do  indirectly  and  unintentionally  by  our  acts.  The  body 
—  which  was  the  visible  man  —  is  put  visibly  into  the  grave  and 
the  child  knows  it  is  there ;  and  at  stated  intervals  we  put  flowers 
on  the  grave  —  an  act  which  the  child  can  hardly  interpret  oth- 
erwise than  under  the  category  of  giving  a  present  to  the  dead 
one.  And  so  it  comes  about  that  while  he  is  not  at  all  sure  just 
where  Grandpa  is,  he  is  inclined  to  think  that  he  is  up  in  the 
cemetery.  Much  of  our  feeling  and  of  our  really  practical  and 
vital  belief  on  -this  subject,  as  on  most  others,  is  of  course  de- 
rived from  our  childhood  impressions.  And  so  it  comes  about 
that  this  attitude  toward  the  body  and  the  grave  is  not  con- 
fined to  children.  Says  Agnes  in  Ibsen's  "  Brand  "  of  her  dead 
boy  Alf,  when  her  husband  has  reproved  her  for  thinking  ten- 
derly of  the  little  body  in  the  grave : 

"  '  Wliat  thou  sternly  call'st  the  corse. 
Ah,  to  me,  my  child  is  there! 
Where  is  body,  there  is  soul: 
These  apart  I  cannot  keep, 
Each  is  unto  me  the  whole ; 
Alf  beneath  the  snow  asleep 
Is  my  very  Alf  in  heaven.'  " 

The  Hindu  is  not  likelv  to  make  this  identification.  The 
body  of  his  lost  friend  is  burned  within  a  few  hours  after  death, 
and  the  ashes  swept  into  the  river  and  forever  dispersed.  There 
is  no  body  left  and  no  grave  around  which  he  may  center  his 
thoughts  of  the  departed.  If  he  is  to  think  of  him  at  all  it 
cannot  be  of  his  body  and  must  be  of  his  soul.     The  Christian 


250  THE  KELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

decks  the  tomb  of  his  departed  one  with  flowers :  the  Hindu  in- 
stead performs  an  annual  Shraddha  ceremony  to  the  spirits  of 
those  gone  before. 

But  there  is,  I  believe,  one  further  reason  for  the  greater 
strength  of  the  Hindu  faith  over  the  Christian,  and  that  is 
to  be  found  in  the  contrast  between  the  two  conceptions  of  im- 
mortality. In  the  Christian  view  the  soul's  survival  of  death 
is  essentially  miraculous.  The  soul  is  conceived  as  coming  into 
existence  with  the  birth  of  the  body,  and  the  thing  to  be  ex- 
pected is  that  it  should  perish  when  the  body  perishes.  This 
is  prevented  through  the  intervention,  so  to  speak,  of  God,  who 
steps  in  and  rescues  the  soul  and  confers  upon  it  an  immortality 
which,  left  to  itself,  it  could  never  attain.  Thus  it  comes  about 
that  when  the  idea  of  supernatural  intervention  has  been  gener- 
ally discarded,  and  even  the  belief  in  God  as  an  active  force  * 
outside  of  nature  has  been  weakened  —  as  is  the  case  all  over 
western  Christendom  —  there  is  little  left  to  support  the  belief 
in  the  continued  existence  of  the  soul  after  the  death  of  the 
body.  In  India  all  this  is  changed.  The  soul's  immortality 
has  there  never  been  thought  dependent  upon  any  supernatural 
interference  or  miraculous  event,  nor  even  upon  God  Himself. 
There  are  atheistic  philosophers  in  India,  but  they  are  as 
thoroughly  convinced  of  the  eternal  life  of  the  soul  as  are  the 
monist  and  the  theist.  For  in  India  the  soul  is  essentially  im- 
mortal. Its  eternity  grows  out  of  its  very  nature.  It  did  not 
begin  to  be  when  the  body  was  born,  and  hence  there  is  no 
reason  to  expect  that  it  will  cease  to  be  when  the  body  dies. 
Existence  is  a  part  of  its  nature.  If  you  admit  a  beginning 
for  it,  you  put  it  at  once  out  of  the  class  of  the  eternal  things, 
and  are  forced  to  hang  its  future  existence  upon  a  miracle.  But 
for  the  Hindu  '*  the  knowing  self  is  not  bom ;  it  dies  not.  It 
sprang  from  nothing;  nothing  sprang  from  it.  It  is  not  slain 
though  the  body  be  slain."  ^^ 

But  while  it  is  hardly  to  be  questioned  that  the  belief  in  im- 
mortality is  less  widespread  with  us  than  it  is  with  the  In- 
dians, it  would  be  a  great  mistake  to  regard  it  as  a  secondary 

28Katha  Upanishad  I.  1.  2.  (S.  B.  E.  Am.  Ed.,  New  York,  Christian 
Lit.  Co.:  1807.)  Vol.  I,  Part  II,  pp.  10-11.  I  have  discussed  this  ques- 
tion at  greater  length  in  my  "  India  and  Its  Faith,"  pp.  105-07. 


THE  BELIEF  IN  IMMORTALITY  251 

and  unimportant  part  of  Christianity  as  Christianity  is  actually 
believed  and  felt  and  lived  to-day.  Christianity,  like  Hindu- 
ism, has  always  considered  faith  in  immortality  one  of  the  es- 
sential aspects  of  religion.  Not  all  historical  religions  have 
done  this.  The  Old  Testament  made  little  of  personal  im- 
mortality, as  did  also  the  classical  form  of  Paganism,  while 
orthodox  Buddhism  of  the  "  Southern  "  type  seems  to  deny  it 
altogether.  But  Christianity  has  persistently  and  steadily  put 
its  emphasis  upon  this  larger  human  hope.^^  And  if  we  base 
our  judgment  as  to  what  Christianity  believes  not  on  the  ag- 
gregate of  persons  who  inhabit  Christendom  but  upon  those 
Christians  whom  popular  thought  singles  out  easily  as  religious 
people,  we  shall  find  that  the  hope  of  eternal  life  is  still  one 
of  the  essential  and  characteristic  elements  of  Christianity.^^ 
The  difficulties  in  the  conception  which  I  have  pointed  out  are 
undoubtedly  present,  and  the  faith  of  many  Christians  is  plainly 
weaker  because  of  them.  Yet  in  spite  of  these  things  faith  in 
immortality  is  still  a  living  and  most  important  part  of  the 
Christian  conviction. 

I  am  aware  that  this  is  not  the  opinion  of  all  who  have  studied 
the  subject.  Thus  Dr.  G.  Stanley  Hall  writes :  "  As  to  im- 
mortality in  the  orthodox  sense  of  the  word,  if  men  really  be- 
lieved that  there  was  another  life  vastly  better  and  more  desir- 
able in  every  way  than  this,  the  world  would  soon  be  depopu- 
lated, for  all  would  emigrate  from  it,  unless  fear  of  the  mere  act 
of  dying  deterred  them.  x\t  least  all  the  strong  and  enter- 
prising souls  would  go.     But  in  fact  even  those  surest  of  Heaven 

29  Professor  T.  C.  Hall  is  so  struck  by  this  contrast  of  Christianity  to 
Judaism  that  he  attributes  the  emphasis  on  immortality  to  the  Egyptian 
influence  which  came  in  by  way  of  Egyptian-Christian  monasticism  in  the 
early  centuries  of  our  era.  (See  his  "Ethics  within  Organized  Christian- 
ity." New  York,  Scribner's:  1910,  pp.  216-17.)  But  surely  one  has  only 
to  read  the  history  of  the  early  church  —  or  for  that  matter  The  Book  of 
the  Acts  —  to  see  that  the  enthusiastic  emphasis  upon  the  future  life  long 
antedated  this  Egj-ptian  influence. 

30  The  figures  from  Schiller's  questionnaire  do  not  in  the  least  refute  this 
view.  For  though  the  general  impression  which  his  results  give  is  that  the 
community  is  relatively  indifferent  upon  the  question,  it  must  be  remem- 
bered that  only  a  small  proporton  of  his  respondents  were  what  one  would 
call  essentially  religious  people.  They  were  representative  neither  of  the 
community  at  large  {the  proportion  of  the  scientific  class  being  much  too 
high)  nor  of  modern  Christianity. 


252  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

stay  licre  to  the  latest  possible  moment,  and  use  every  means 
at  their  disposal  not  to  graduate  into  the  Jcnscits,  even  though 
their  lives  in  this  worhl  be  miserable.  Does  not  this  show 
that  belief  in  post-mortem  life  is  a  convention,  a  dream- 
wish  I  "  8^ 

The  fallacy  of  the  argument  used  in  this  quotation  is  pre- 
sumably plain  enough.  The  fact  that  people  do  not  commit  sui- 
cide is  no  proof  that  they  do  not  believe  in  a  future  life ;  it  shows 
merely  that  the  instinctive  impulse  for  self-preservation,  com- 
bined with  the  reiterated  teachings  of  the  Christian  Church  that 
suicide  is  a  great  sin,  has  strength  enough  to  keep  those  who 
believe  the  other  life  is  best  still  on  this  side,  until  it  is  God's 
will  to  take  them.  But  aside  from  this  psychologically  sound 
explanation  of  the  matter,  and  even  if  we  were  dealing  with  the 
(psychologically  quite  impossible)  cold  intelligences  that  Presi- 
dent Hall  for  the  moment  seems  to  believe  in,  the  utmost  that 
his  test  proves  is  that  religious  people  prefer  one  life  at  a  time ; 
that  no  matter  how  fair  the  next  life  may  prove  to  be,  they  pre- 
fer to  postpone  it  till  the  hour  comes  and  they  are  ripe  for  it. 

The  question  of  the  intensity  of  belief  in  what  Dr.  Hall,  in 
characteristic  phrase,  calls  the  "  postmortem  perduration  of  per- 
sonality,'' 8^  is  not  to  be  settled  in  so  simple  a  fashion.  For 
many  indifferent  people  it  may  be  what  Dr.  Hall  calls  it  —  "a 
kiosk  in  Kamchatka,  which  believers  have  invested  something  in 
and  fitted  out  with  such  comforts  as  they  can  "  —  ^'  better  fifty 
years  of  earth  than  a  cycle  of  Heaven."  But  for  many  a  re- 
ligious soul  —  and  for  many  more  of  them  than  Dr.  Hall  evi- 
dently supposes  —  the  hope  of  the  eternal  life  is  something 
truly  vital  and  fundamental,  something  too  sacred  and  profound 
to  be  treated  intelligently  in  Dr.  Hall's  flippant  phrases.  It 
may  be  that  my  experience  is  untrustworthy,  but  certainly  it 
has  been  my  observation  that  among  religious  people  the  hope 
and  belief  in  a  future  life  are  very  central  to  their  religion. 
The  results  of  my  questionnaire  show  the  same  fact,  if  they  can 
be  trusted  to  show  anything  at  all.  Among  one  hundred  and 
forty-seven  respondents,  one  hundred  and  thirty-one  believed  in 

31 "  Thanatophobia  and   Immortality,"  Am.  Jour,  of  Pay.,  for   October, 
1915,  p.  579. 

32  "  Educational  Problems,"  Vol.  I,  p.  144. 


THE  BELIEF  IN  IMMOKTALITY  253 

a  future  life,  as  against  sixteen  who  were  agnostic.  Of  fifty- 
seven  respondents  to  a  question  concerning  the  growth  or  decay 
of  the  belief,  forty-five  insisted  that  their  faith  in  immortality 
was  increasing,  seven  noticed  no  changed,  and  five  found  a  de- 
crease. I  should  claim  no  value  for  these  figures  were  it  not 
that  I  believe  my  respondents  to  have  been  fairly  representative 
religious  people,  and  that  the  tone  of  their  answers  is  quite  in 
accord  with  what  the  figures  indicate.  The  faith  in  immortal- 
ity may  be  less  wide-spread  than  the  belief  in  a  God,  though  this 
is  doubtful.  Leuba's  figures  would,  in  fact,  indicate  the  con- 
trary. All  the  different  classes  of  American  scholars  whom  he 
investigated,  except  the  psychologists,  were  found  to  include  a 
larger  percentage  of  believers  in  immortality  than  of  believers 
in  a  personal  God,^^  Whether  this  be  true  of  the  majority  of 
mankind  or  not,  certainly  there  is  one  sense  in  which  the  belief 
in  immortality  means  more  than  the  belief  in  a  God.  It  is  less 
a  matter  of  theory  and,  when  strong,  is  more  personal  and  prac- 
tical in  its  nature.  It  is  far  from  being  merely  the  continua- 
tion of  a  childish  superstition,  but,  like  the  belief  in  God  when 
this  is  normal,  it  changes  and  grows  with  the  growing  mind. 
My  respondents  may  have  exaggerated  the  increase  of  its 
strength  with  their  maturing  and  advancing  years,  but  their 
testimony  is,  I  believe,  trustworthy  in  so  far  as  it  indicates 
the  steady  increase  of  value  that  this  faith  has  for  life.  To 
the  religious  man  and  woman  this  hope-faith  becomes  increas- 
ingly a  part  of  his  existence,  a  secret  source  of  new  courage  and 
strength,  as  the  years  go  by. 

It  is  this  essentially  pragmatic  value  of  the  belief  in  immor- 
tality that  I  would  stress  in  closing  this  chapter.  As  the  be- 
lief in  miracles  and  special  answers  to  prayer  and  in  the  inter- 
ference of  the  supernatural  within  the  natural  has  gradually 
disappeared,  almost  the  only  pragmatic  value  of  the  supernat- 
ural left  to  religion  is  the  belief  in  a  personal  future  life.  In 
many  advanced  religious  circles  the  Absolute  is  climbing  the 
throne  of  Jehovah,  and  the  idealistic  universe  which  has  taken 
the  place  of  the  old  one,  when  examined  closely  turns  out  to  be 
just  the  materialistic  universe  with  a  new  set  of  labels.     In 

33  Op.  cit.,  Chap.  IX. 


254  THE  KELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

such  a  world  only  a  minimum  of  pragmatic  value  is  left  to 
"  God,"  and  only  the  belief  in  human  immortality  remains 
from  all  the  ancient  faith  which  taught  that  the  religious  uni- 
verse was  really  different  and  had  appreciably  different  conse- 
quences from  the  non-religious  one. 

If  we  should  affirm  with  Iloffding  that,  from  one  point  of 
view  at  least,  "  the  essence  of  religion  consists  in  the  conviction 
that  value  will  be  preserved,"  ^*  then  surely  the  belief  in  human 
immortality  would  be  found  very  central  to  it.  In  a  very  real 
sense,  moreover,  one  may  say  that  this  faith  is  psychologically 
deep-rooted  and  psychologically  justified.  For  it  is  based  on 
the  clear  apprehension  of  a  great  truth  and  a  great  postulate. 
The  truth  is  that  value  and  conscious  life  are  correlative  terms, 
and  that  each  is  impossible  without  the  other.  The  postulate 
is  that  the  spiritual  life  is  different  in  kind  from  and  essen- 
tially independent  of  the  world  of  matter  and  its  laws  and 
operations.  Intimately  intermingled  the  two  are,  but  the  hu- 
man spirit  has  always  insisted  that  they  are  not  identical,  and 
demanded  that  they  shall  not  be  utterly  inseparable.  The  faith 
in  the  immortality  of  man's  spirit  is  the  great  expression  of  this 
postulate,  and  of  the  inherent  idealistic  demand  of  human  na- 
ture that  the  values  of  the  universe  shall  not  wholly  perish. 
In  one  sense,  therefore,  this  faith  is  even  more  fundamentally 
human  —  as  it  has  in  fact  been  more  wide-spread  both  in  space 
and  in  time  —  than  the  belief  in  a  personal  God.  For  it  is 
essentially  humanity's  belief  in  itself,  its  faith  in  the  highest 
form  of  the  spiritual  life  that  it  has  kno^vn.  The  particular 
forms  of  this  faith  have  varied  with  man's  changing  circum- 
stances through  the  ages  and  inevitably  will  vary.  But  the 
fundamental  demand  for  the  continuance  of  conscious  and  ra- 
tional life,  somewhere  and  somehow,  will  pretty  certainly  last 
as  long  as  men  have  ideals  and  hopes  and  continue  to  take  any 
attitude  toward  the  Determiner  of  Destiny. 

3*  "  The  Philosophy  of  Religion,"  p.  14,  et  passim. 


CHAPTER  XII 

THE    CULT    AND    ITS    CAUSES 

Fob  one  whose  knowledge  of  public  worship  is  limited  to 
what  goes  on  of  a  Sunday  in  his  own  Protestant  meeting-house, 
it  is  hard  to  understand  what  can  be  meant  by  the  problem  of 
worship,  or  how  there  can  be  anything  puzzling  about  it.  It  is 
all  so  simple  and  natural  that  the  church-goer  only  wonders  why 
any  one  stays  at  home;  while  the  man  at  home  is  usually  too 
busy  with  his  Sunday  paper  to  ask  why  any  one  goes.  Church- 
going,  either  on  our  own  part  or  on  the  part  of  others,  is  one 
of  those  commonplace,  customary  things  which,  unless  our 
attention  has  been  especially  drawn  to  them,  we  take  quite  for 
granted.  But  put  your  average  church-goer  (or  your  average 
home-stayer)  on  a  ship  and  pack  him  off  to  the  East ;  land  him 
at  Calcutta  near  the  Kalighat,  or  lead  him  inland  to  some  tem- 
ple on  a  hill-side  overlooking  a  secluded  village;  and  religious 
worship  will  no  longer  seem  to  him  quite  so  self-explanatory. 
The  drums  are  beating  violently,  as  he  approaches,  and  wild 
music  of  strange  sorts  is  issuing  from  the  equally  strange  build- 
ing before  him.  He  is  admitted  (after  he  has  taken  off  his 
shoes)  and  beholds  a  sight  as  extraordinary  as  is  the  noise  that 
accompanies  it.  On  the  walls  of  the  rooms  are  hideous  im- 
ages, carved  in  stone  and  daubed  with  red  paint,  one  represent- 
ing a  monkey,  one  a  creature  with  a  fat  human  belly  and  an 
elephant's  head,  each  with  an  offering  of  yellow  marigolds  be- 
fore it;  while  in  the  most  prominent  place  is  a  stone  pillar, 
rounded  off  on  the  top,  wet  from  the  pouring  of  much  Ganges 
water,  bedaubed  with  spots  of  paint,  and  surrounded  with  green 
leaves,  uncooked  rice,  a  few  coins,  and  more  yellow  marigolds. 
There  are  two  priests  in  the  corner,  beating  tom-toms,  and  by 
the  pillar  stands  a  third,  daubing  it  with  more  paint,  pouring 
water  over  it,  placing  leaves  upon  it,  and  all  the  while  mum- 
bling words, —  many  of  them  mere  repetitions  of  names  —  to 
which  no  one  seems  to  listen.     The  noise  becomes  louder,  and 

255 


250  THE  KELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

the  old  priest  seizes  a  li^^hted  lamp  and  brandishes  it  about  in 
front  of  the  much-bedaubed  pillar,  while  the  audience  follow 
bis  motions  with  obvious  excitement;  and  at  the  close  of  the 
hocus-pocus  he  distributes  to  them  some  of  the  rice  which  has 
been  collected  at  the  foot  of  the  sacred  object.  The  perform- 
ance has  been  utterly  unintelligible  to  our  visitor,  but  the  most 
astonishing  thing  about  it  all  is  the  attitude  and  aspect  of  the 
worshipers.  For  worshipers  they  indubitably  are.  Some  of 
them  have  been  standing,  some  kneeling,  some  prostrate  on 
their  faces.  Each  one  has  made  an  offering  before  the  be- 
drenched  pillar  or  at  the  feet  of  the  grotesque  figures  on  the 
walls,  and  though  some  seem  indifferent,  many  give  unmistak- 
able signs  of  reverence,  and  a  few  show  in  their  faces,  as  they 
start  homewards,  that  they  have  found  in  that  preposterous 
transaction  the  same  sort  of  inner  treasure  which  our  Protestant 
church-":oer  has  occasionallv  carried  home  with  him  on  a  Sun- 
day  from  his  American  meeting-house. 

"  What  under  the  sun  do  these  people  get  out  of  this  devilish 
performance  ?  "  asks  our  friend.  "  Why  do  they  go  through 
these  absurd  actions?  How  did  the  thing  ever  start  and  why 
do  they  keep  it  up  ?  " 

If  our  friend  continues  his  travels  he  will  see  stranger  things 
than  these  —  candles,  bells,  incense,  bloody  animal  sacrifice, 
communal  eating  of  sacred  food,  repetition  of  lengthy  formulae, 
twisting  of  fingers  and  wriggling  of  limbs,  elaborate  ceremonies 
of  purification,  imitation  of  the  actions  of  animals,  obscene 
rites,  ^vild  dances,  painful  self-torture.  And  as  he  travels  more 
widely  he  will  find  many  of  these  strange  performances  repeated 
by  religion  after  religion,  in  continent  after  continent.^  If, 
on  returning  home,  out  of  curiosity  he  goes  (probably  for  the 
first  time)  to  the  little  Catholic  Church  around  the  corner,  he 
will  find  again  the  candles,  the  bell,  the  images,  the  incense,  the 
muttered  words,  the  twisted  fingers,  the  communal  meal  —  and 
again  also  the  reverence,  the  elation,  the  comfort,  the  inner  re- 
ward of  the  worshipers.  Such  experiences  as  these  may  throw 
a  new  light  even  on  his  own  Protestant  ''  service."     If  instead 

1  One  will  find  an  interesting  (though  quite  incomplete)  table  illustrative 
of  this  striking  recurrence  of  seemingly  improbable  observances  in  W.  B. 
Stover's  "India:  A  Problem"  (Elgin,*  111.,  Brethren  Pub.  House:  1903), 
pp.  105-168. 


THE  CULT  A:N^D  ITS  CAUSES  257 

of  coming  from  Asia,  he  had  come  from  Mars,  and  had  never 
seen  any  form  of  cult,  how  (he  may  now  ask  himself)  would  he 
have  heen  affected  by  the  Sunday  doings  which  he  has  always 
taken  for  granted  ?  Is  it  not  a  bit  surprising  that  once  in  every 
seven  days  a  great  city  should  stop  its  work,  and  that  half  the 
population  should  turn  out  in  their  best  clothes  to  hear  one  of 
their  number  read  from  a  big  book  passages  which  most  of  them 
have  long  known  almost  by  heart,  that  they  should  partake  of 
bread  and  wine  together,  and  (most  astonishing  of  all)  that 
they  should  all  shut  their  eyes  and  listen  while  the  man  in  the 
pulpit  talks  to  some  one  who  obviously  is  not  there  ?  Why  do 
the  people  do  these  things  ?  What  is  it  all  for  ?  How  did  the 
custom  ever  originate  and  why  does  it  continue  ? 

The  question  last  suggested  is  obviously  a  double  one.  Doubt- 
less some  of  the  psychological  factors  at  work  in  both  the  origin 
and  the  continuation  of  the  cult  have  been  identical ;  yet  origin 
and  continuation  are  in  one  sense  separate  facts  and  each  needs 
its  o^Ti  explanation.  Many  an  institution  has  ceased  to  exist; 
why  does  religious  cult,  or  public  worship,  still  continue  ?  The 
psychological  explanation  for  each  of  these  things, —  so  far  as 
one  can  find  any  explanation  for  them  —  must,  like  other  ex- 
planations, be  of  two  sorts,  causal  and  functional.  We  must, 
that  is,  seek  to  discover  what  are  the  influences  external  to  the 
cult  itself,  which  helped  originate  it  and  which  tend  to  preserve 
it,  and  also  what  are  the  functions  performed  by  the  cult  in  the 
life  of  the  individual  and  of  society  which  have  made  it  so 
valuable  to  generation  after  generation  that  the  race  has  never 
been  willing  to  give  it  up,  but  has  clung  to  it,  sometimes  pas- 
sively, often  passionately,  but  always  tenaciously. 

Whatever  may  be  the  true  theory  of  the  origin  of  cult,  it 
seems  to  be  pretty  plain  at  any  rate,  that  one  of  the  theories 
most  commonly  held  not  long  ago  must  be  given  up.  This 
was  the  view  that  man,  starting  with  a  belief  in  supernatural 
spirits,  devised  or  hit  upon  various  ways  of  placating  their 
wrath  and  of  gaining  their  favor,  and  that  these  more  or  less 
deliberate  methods,  arising  subsequent  to  religious  belief  and 
dependent  upon  it,  formed  the  origin  of  cult.  "  A  sentiment 
of  kinship  with  the  superhuman  powers,"  wrote  Professor 
Tiele,  "  as  well  as  a  sense  of  entire  dependence  upon  them,  im- 


258  THE  KELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

pels  the  religious  man  to  seek  communion  with  them,  or  at 
least  to  enter  into  some  kind  of  relation  towards  them,  and  to 
reestablish  such  communion  when  lie  thinks  it  has  been  broken 
off  through  his  own  fault.  From  this  impulse  spring  all  those 
religious  observances  which  are  usually  embraced  in  the  term 
worship."  ^  Something  not  very  different  from  this  seems  also 
to  be  the  view  of  Tylor,  who  explains  the  various  forms  of  the 
cult  on  the  basis  of  a  preexisting  animism.^  Such  an  hy- 
pothesis has  the  merit  of  simplicity  and  in  fact  it  was,  seem- 
ingly, its  simplicity  rather  than  anything  decisive  in  the  evi- 
dence that  suggested  it  in  the  first  place.  It  owes  its  origin 
to  a  period,  only  a  few  years  behind  us,  when  the  social  nature 
of  religion  was  but  partially  understood,  and  when  (in  spite 
of  rapidly  accumulating  anthropological  evidence)  much  greater 
confidence  was  felt  than  we  feel  to-day  in  the  powers  of  a  priori 
cogitation  to  think  out  the  nature  and  origin  of  religion  from 
what  must  have  been  the  mental  state  of  the  lonely  individual. 
Although  contemporary  investigators  are  far  from  agreed  on 
the  various  questions  relating  to  the  origin  of  religion  and  of 
cult,  two  things  seem  fairly  well  established :  first,  that  cult  did 
not  arise  subsequent  to  belief,  but  in  close  connection  with  it, 
if  indeed  it  was  not  the  older  of  the  two ;  and  also  that  cult 
was  not  merely  an  individual  but  chiefly  a  social  product.* 
Over  thirty  years  ago  W.  Robertson  Smith  pointed  out  the  close 
relation  between  a  seemingly  individual  rite,  namely  sacrifice 
(in  at  least  one  of  its  forms),  and  that  most  central  social  act, 
the  communal  meal.^     More  recently  Dr.  Irving  King,  Pro- 

2  "  Science  of  Religion,"  Vol.  II,  p.  127. 

3  See  his  "Primitive  Culture"  (Fourth  Ed.  London,  Murray:  1903), 
Vol.  II,  Chap.   18. 

4  This  is  well  expressed  by  Professor  Toy:  "In  early  man  there  is 
little  individuality  of  thought  and  of  religious  experience,  and  there  is  no 
observable  difference  between  public  and  private  religious  worship.  Cere- 
monies, like  language,  are  the  product  of  social  thought,  and  are  them- 
selves essentially  social."  ("Introduction  to  the  History  of  Religions," 
Boston,  Ginn:  1913,  p.  49.)  The  subject  is  dealt  with  at  some  length 
by  Dr.  F.  G.  Henke  in  his  "Study  in  the  Psychology  of  Ritualism"  (Uni- 
versity of  Chicago  Press,  1910),  who  argues  at  length  against  the  distinc- 
tion (maintained  by  Brinton  and  others)  between  individual  and  social 
rites,  maintaining  that  all  rites  are  social.  (See,  especially  chapters  1 
and  2  of  his  monograph.)  The  question  at  issue  in  Dr.  Henke's  study 
seems  hardly  worth  much  discussion  as  it  is  largely  a  matter  of  terms. 

5  "  The  Religion  of  the  Semites."     See  especially  Chap,  VIII. 


THE  CULT  AND  ITS  CAUSES  259 

fessor  E.  S.  Ames,  and  Dr.  F.  G.  Henke  have  proposed  a  theory 
of  the  origin  of  cult  which  generalizes  the  suggestion  made  by 
Robertson  Smith,  and  certainly  does,  at  last,  full  justice  by 
the  social  aspect  of  religion.  According  to  these  writers,  the 
various  ceremonies  of  the  cult  grow  out  of  social  activities,  per- 
formed by  the  group  in  unison  or  cooperation,  these  social 
activities  themselves  having  their  origin  in  practical  needs  and 
fundamental  instincts.  ^'  The  forms  of  social  life,'^  writes  Pro- 
fessor Ames,  "  are  determined  in  their  main  outlines  by  reac- 
tions upon  the  environment  under  the  stress  of  the  nutritive 
and  sexual  impulses.  These  forms  of  social  life  —  occupa- 
tions, relations  of  the  sexes,  various  ceremonials,  and  folk- 
ways —  tend  to  become  fixed,  and  to  secure  themselves  against 
change  by  many  natural  safeguards."  *'  Religion  in  its  first 
form  is  a  reflection  of  the  most  important  group  interests 
through  social  symbols  and  ceremonials  based  upon  the  activi- 
ties incident  to  such  interests."  ^  Dr.  King  expresses  the  same 
thought.  "  The  religious  acts  are  themselves  an  organic  part 
of  the  activities  of  the  social  body.  They  are,  in  fact,  social 
acts.  Under  certain  circumstances,  customs  become  religious, 
or  acquire  religious  values.  It  may  be  said  that  religious  prac- 
tices are  social  habits  specialized  in  a  certain  direction."  '^  To 
the  practical  and  vital  group  activities  which  Professor  Ames 
regards  as  the  source  of  cult.  Dr.  King  would  add  such  further 
influences  as  the  play  impulse  (which  may  well  account  for  the 
dance)  and  even  various  chance  occurrences,  too  obscure  and 
varied  for  further  analysis.  But  diverse  as  are  these  sources, 
they  are  all  social,  and  require  no  antecedent  religious  belief  to 
account  for  them.  "  If  a  social  group  tends  naturally  to  ex- 
press itself  in  various  practical  ways  and  in  various  social  and 
playful  forms,  then  that  process  which  is  seen  to  consist  of  one 
or  more  of  these  natural  methods  of  activity  does  not  require 
the  introduction  of  any  additional  explanation,  such  as  an 
original  religious  motive.  A  social  group  is  sure,  in  any  case, 
to  have  its  practical  problems,  its  sports,  and  its  festive  occa- 

6  "  The  Psychology  of  Religious  Experience,"  pp.  51  and  49.  Dr.  Henke 
adds  the  instincts  of  fear  and  anger  to  the  list  of  original  sources  of  the 
rite  —  though  on  questionable  grounds.     Op.  cit.  Chap.  III. 

T  •♦  The  Development  of  Religion,"  p.  8S. 


260  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

sions;  we  may  more  easily  comprehend  bow  these  phases  of 
action  could  be  productive  of  a  consciousness  of  higher  values 
than  that  these  values  might  have  been  given  offhand,  that  is, 
that  they  should  possess  no  antecedents  or  natural  history."  ® 

It  would  be  a  mistake  to  regard  this  theory  of  the  social 
origin  of  cult  as  completely  refuting  the  older  view  of  Tiele 
and  Tylor ;  for  undoubtedly  a  very  large  part  of  the  ceremonials 
of  all  developed  historical  religions  is  due  to  some  more  or  less 
explicitly  formulated  belief.  On  the  other  hand,  the  origin 
of  the  very  earliest  and  most  primitive  cults  is  pretty  certainly 
to  be  sought  among  the  social  activities  of  primitive  groups, 
such  as  those  suggested  by  Dr.  King  and  Professor  Ames.  I 
can  hardly  feel,  however,  with  Professor  Ames  that  when  we 
have  discovered  the  source  of  group  activities,  we  have  answered 
the  question  as  to  the  origin  of  cult.  "  It  would  be  no  exaggera- 
tion," he  writes,  "  to  say  that  all  ceremonies  in  which  the  whole 
group  cooperates  with  keen  emotional  interest  are  religious,  and 
that  all  religious  acts  are  distinguished  by  this  social  qual- 
ity." ^  Such  a  view  makes  no  distinction  between  religious 
ceremonial  and  any  other  emotional  group  activity,  such  as  the 
war  dance.  Dr.  King  sees  that  some  distinction  is  here  required, 
but  though  he  labors  it  through  several  pages  in  an  attempt 
to  discover  what  this  distinction  may  be,  nothing  very  definite 
emerges. ^^  Professor  Ames's  failure  to  distinguish  religious 
ceremonies  from  other  social  ceremonies  is  in  fact,  for  him, 
quite  inevitable,  since  he  makes  no  distinction  between  the  re- 
ligious and  the  social  as  such.  As  we  saw  in  the  first  chap- 
ter, he  defines  religion  as  "  the  consciousneis  of  the  highest  so- 
cial values,"  making  it  identical  with  early  group  feeling  and 
late  social  morality.  Hence  he  is  under  no  obligation  to  ex- 
plain how  the  purely  social  activities  of  primitive  societies 
came  to  be  differentiated  into  religious  cult.  They  never  were 
so  differentiated,  since  to  be  social  is  to  be  religious. 

For  us,  however,  who  have  a  different  view  of  religion,  no 
such  simple  solution  of  the  problem  is  permissible.  Religion 
in  our  view  is  not  merely  the  consciousness  of  the  highest  social 

8  Op.  cit.  p.  102. 
8  Op.  cit.  p.  72. 

10  Op.  cit.  Chap.  V.  See  also  his  "  The  Differentiation  of  the  Religious 
Consciousness,"  Psy.   Rev.   Monograph  Supplement  for   January,    1905. 


THE  CULT  AND  ITS  CAUSES  261 

values,  but  an  attitude  toward  the  Determiner  of  Destiny;  and 
it  is  exactly  the  religious  part  of  the  cult  ceremonies  which 
Ames  and  even  King  have  failed  to  explain.  The  external  part 
of  the  most  primitive  cult  —  so  much  as  an  onlooker  might  see 
and  describe  —  may  well  enough  have  arisen  in  the  way  sug- 
gested by  them;  but  how  was  the  relation  established  in  the 
minds  of  the  participants,  or  in  the  mind  of  the  group  itself, 
between  these  activities  and  the  Determiner  of  Destiny? 
Whence  came  into  the  cult  that  cosmic  sense  which  (if  our 
view  be  correct)  must  somehow  be  connected  with  an  act  if  that 
act  is  to  be  genuinely  religious  ? 

The  most  influential  group  of  modern  writers  on  the  so- 
ciological aspects  of  religion  —  namely  M.  Durkheim  and  his 
followers  —  will  answer  this  question  by  insisting  either  that 
there  is  no  truly  cosmic  sense  connected  with  primitive  reli- 
gious cult,  or  that  what  passes  for  such  is  in  reality  simply  a 
feeling  for  the  social  group.  This  is  not  the  place  for  a  lengthy 
discussion  of  this  question,  and  I  must  content  myself  by  point- 
ing out  that  Durkheim's  view  stands  or  falls  with  the  proposi- 
tion that  "  Nature  as  such  cannot  inspire  religious  emotion." 
Dr.  Goldenweiser  (to  whom  I  owe  this  formulation  of  Durk- 
heim's position)  points  out,  in  refutation  of  this  view,  that 
"  our  familiarity  with  man,  modern,  ancient,  and  primitive, 
leaves  no  room  for  doubt  that  at  all  times  and  places  man  was 
strongly  susceptible  to  the  impressions  produced  on  him  by  the 
phenomena  of  nature,  and  that  such  impressions  assumed  in 
his  consciousness  the  form  of  quasi-religious  sentiments."  ^^ 
We  have,  in  short,  no  conceivable  reason  to  suppose  that  the 
earliest  men  were  merely  social ;  that  while  enormously  sensi- 
tive to  the  influences  of  their  fellows  and  the  group  they  were 
entirely  obtuse  to  the  tremendous  forces  of  nature.  Doubtless 
the  interpretation  which  the  individual  gave  to  these  forces  was 
determined  for  him  in  large  part  by  the  attitude  of  the  group ; 
but  that  the  group  itself  and  all  its  members  had  an  attitude 
toward  a  non-human  and  non-social  source  of  power  is  hardly 
to  be  denied.  It  is,  moreover,  becoming  increasingly  probable 
that  the  earliest  form  of  this  cosmic  sense  (if  so  I  may  call  it) 

11 "  Religion  and  Society.  A  Critique  of  Emile  Durkheim'a  Theory  of 
the  Origin  and  Nature  of  Religion."  Jour,  of  Phil.,  XIV  (March,  1917), 
p.  116. 


262  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

was  not  a  belief  in  definite  and  man-like  '^  spirits,"  but  rather 
a  feeling  for  that  indefinable,  impersonal,  all-pervading  power, 
which  the  Iroquois  called  orenda,  the  Algonquins  manitou,  the 
Sioux  trakonda,  the  Melanesians  mana,  but  which,  under  what- 
ever name,  is  conceived  as  the  ultimate  source  of  power,  the 
controller  of  happiness,  the  determiner  of  destiny.^^ 

If  modern  anthropology  is  right  in  seeing  in  this  mysterious 
power  the  earliest  religious  object,  there  is  no  reason  to  doubt 
that  individuals  as  well  as  social  gi'oups,  even  in  very  early 
times,  maintained  an  attitude  toward  it  which  we  may  properly 
call  religious,  and  that  many,  though  by  no  means  all,  of  their 
individual  activities  were  influenced  by  it.  For  great  as  is  the 
influence  of  society  upon  the  individual,  especially  among  early 
men,  the  evidence  of  anthropology  bears  out  what  one  might  nat- 
urally expect,  in  showing  that  there  are  individual  as  well  as 
social  religious  feelings  and  activities  even  among  primitive  races 
—  though  of  course  the  individual  act  is  always  directly  or  indi- 
rectly influenced  by  the  social  milieu.  "  Within  every  cul- 
ture," writes  Dr.  Goldenweiser,  "  religious  experiences  occur 
which  are  but  weakly  institutionalized,  while  some  of  these, 
although  likewise  provided  with  a  traditional  background,  re- 
main almost  altogether  unsupported  by  similar  experiences  of 
other  individuals."  ^^  The  activities  (but  "  weakly  institu- 
tionalized ")  of  individual  men  and  women  which  aimed  at 
getting  into  touch  with  this  non-human  source  of  power,  con- 
stituted the  first  appearance  of  what,  in  more  developed  stages, 
are  known,  on  the  one  hand,  as  private  worship,  on  the  other 
as  private  magic.  Neither  of  these  subjects  will  be  discussed 
in  this  place,  for  magic  is  no  concern  of  ours,  and  private  wor- 
ship particularly  in  the  form  of  prayer  will  be  the  subject  of 
a  later  chapter. 

If  one  examine  the  group  activities  of  various  primitive  peo- 

12  The  reader  who  cares  to  study  this  very  early  concept  in  detail  will 
find  numerous  excellent  discussions  of  it  in  the  works  of  recent  anthropo- 
logists and  psychologists,  for  example  the  following:  Brinton,  "Religions 
of  Primitive  Peoples"  (New  York,  Putnam:  1898),  pp.  60-64;  Marett, 
"The  Threshold  of  Religion"  (London,  Methuen:  1900),  pp.  1-32;  King, 
"The  Development  of  Religion,"  Chap.  VI;  Leuba,  "A  Psychological  Study 
of  Religion,"  Chap.  IV;  Hartland,  "Ritual  and  Belief"  (New  York,  Scrib- 
ners:    1914),  pp.  26-66. 

13  Op.  cit.  p.  118. 


THE  CULT  AND  ITS  CAUSES  263 

pies  one  finds  that  they  fall  into  two  divisions,  which  indeed 
shade  into  each  other  but  are  yet  sufficiently  distinct.  One  of 
these  classes  of  activities  takes  cognizance  only  of  the  forces 
of  human  society;  the  other  is  not  merely  social  (in  this  sense) 
but  has  some  more  or  less  obvious  reference  to  the  non-human 
force  —  orenda,  mana,  or  what  you  will  —  which  we  have  been 
discussing.  Plainly  enough  the  public  ceremonies  of  all  the 
more  developed  races  are  susceptible  of  such  a  division  (that 
is  if  we  substitute  ''^  the  Divine "  for  '*  mana '') ;  but  even 
among  the  most  primitive  peoples  known  to  anthropology  this 
distinction  is  still  fairly  clear.  Thus  the  Intichiuma  cere- 
monies of  the  Central  Australians  (the  purpose  of  which  is  to 
secure  the  increase  of  the  tribal  totem)  are  permeated  with 
ideas  of  mana,  while  the  ceremonies  connected  with  the  knock- 
ing out  of  teeth,  etc.,  and  a  large  part  of  the  rites  of  initiation 
are  purely  social  and  have  no  reference  to  an}i;hing  or  any 
power  outside  of  the  human  circle. ^^  What  is  true  of  Austra- 
lian initiation  ceremonies  holds  even  more  completely  of  initia- 
tion ceremonies  in  many  other  parts  of  the  world.  The  "  pu- 
berty institution  "  and  the  rites  celebrated  on  the  admission  of 
youth  into  it  are  found  among  widely  scattered  peoples;  and 
though  here  and  there  some  magical  or  religious  element  has  been 
introduced,  the  central  part  of  the  custom  is  obviously  purely 
social,  with  no  reference  to  any  non-human  influence. ^^  Sev- 
eral other  group  activities  or  ceremonies  (such  as  certain  forms 
of  the  dance)  might  be  mentioned  which,  from  earliest  times, 
have  been  quite  distinguishable  from  those  social  activities 
possessed  of  extra-human  significance.  Not  all  ceremonies, 
therefore,  "  in  which  the  whole  group  cooperates  with  keen 
emotion,"  can  (from  our  point  of  view)  be  called  religious. 
And  the  truly  religious  ceremonies  thus  owe  their  origin  to  two 
quite  distinct  influences, — (1)  the  social  sense,  and  (2)  the 
feeling  for  a  power  which  is  neither  social  nor  personal.  The 
external  form  of  the  cult  may,  to  be  sure,  in  some  cases,  be 
due  almost  exclusively  to  the  practical  activities  of  the  group; 

1*  See  Spencer  and  Gillen,  "  The  Native  Tribes  of  Central  Australia " 
(London,  :Macmillan:   1899),  Chaps.  VI,  XII  and  VII. 

15  The  whole  subject  is  well  presented  in  Professor  Hutton  Webster's 
"Primitive  Secret  Societies"  (New  York,  Macmillan:  1908).  See  es- 
pecially Chaps.  II  and  III. 


264  THE  KE  Li  I.  lots  CONSCIOUSNESS 

the  inner  moaninp:  of  the  activity,  Iwth  for  the  individual  and 
for  the  ^roup  as  a  whok',  will  be  changed  when  the  perform- 
ance in  question  comes  to  be  used  as  a  means  of  obtaining 
munn,  or  of  inihiencing  in  some  way  its  action. 

The  particular  forms  of  the  cult  in  this,  its  earliest  phase,  will 
of  course  depend  in  part  upon  the  social  activities  from  which 
it  arises,  in  part  upon  the  local  ideas  of  matia  which  will  vary 
from  tribe  to  tribe.  Each  new  rite,  moreover,  that  is  addod  as 
religion  develops  will  owe  its  explanation  to  some  new  belief 
or  to  some  old  social  custom,  w^hile  many  a  myth  will  grow  up 
to  rationalize  ancient  ceremonies  which  originated  long  before 
the  stage  of  myth  was  reached.  Thus  faith  and  cult  will  mu- 
tually influence  each  other.  For  each  of  the  strange  details 
of  cult  referred  to  on  page  256  and  others  like  them,  special 
local  explanations  must  be  sought ;  but  the  fundamental  prin- 
ciples at  work  in  the  origin  of  cult,  though  variously  applied, 
will  be  everywhere  the  same. 

At  the  earliest  level  of  culture  there  plainly  can  be,  for  us, 
no  distinction  between  religious  ceremonies  and  magic  rites; 
what  we  have  been  describing  is  the  matrix  out  of  which  both 
grew.^®  As  the  social  group  advanced  to  higher  levels  of  in- 
telligence, religious  conceptions  developed,  and  the  impersonal 
force  was  supplanted  or  supplemented  by  supernatural  spiritual 
beings  who  themselves  possessed  great  stores  of  mana;  and  hand 
in  hand  with  these  developing  ideas  the  old  ceremonies  slowly 
changed  and  took  on  new  meanings.  In  these  higher  stages  of 
religion  (whether  animistic,  polytheistic,  or  theistic),  religious 

i«  This  view  is  admirably  presented  and  defended  by  Dr.  Hartland,  in 
his  illuminating  book,  "Ritual  and  Belief,"  (see  esp.  pp.  26-89).  Profes- 
sor Wundt's  view  differs  from  this  more  in  terminology  than  in  essence. 
For  him  there  was  a  pre-religious  stage,  which  he  gives  over  to  magic;  but 
its  character  does  not  greatly  differ  from  what  I  have  been  describing.  The 
development  of  the  cult  from  this  earliest  phase  to  religious  ceremonial 
in  the  full  sense  of  the  word  was  marked,  according  to  Wundt,  by  three 
gradually  emerging  characteristics:  (1)  "die  Gebundenhcit  an  eine  engere 
Oder  weitere  Gemeinschaft "  (a  characteristic  which,  in  our  view,  it 
possessed  from  the  beginning),  (2)  "  der  umfassendere,  die  allgemeinsten 
von  der  beginnenden  Kultur  getragenen  Lebensbedurfnisse  in  sich  schlies- 
sende  Zweck  der  auf  die  Gewinnung  iibermeschlicher  Wesen  gerichteten 
Handlungen,"  (3)  "die  Beziehung  dor  Kultushandlungen  nach  ihren 
Motiven  wie  nach  ihren  GegenstJinden  auf  eine  iibersinnliche  Welt"  ("Vol- 
kerpsychologie,"  Vol.  II,  Part  III  [i.  e.  really  Vol.  V] ) ,  pp.  595-602. 


THE  CULT  AND  ITS  CAUSES  265 

cult,  though  still  more  or  less  closely  intertwined  at  times  with 
magical  rites,  is  at  last  fairly  distinguishable  from  magic ;  not 
indeed  because  it  is  social  and  magic  individually  ^^  (for  the  vei*y 
opposite  is  often  the  case),  but  because  the  religious  ceremony 
seeks  to  gain  its  end  through  the  assistance  of  the  spirits  or 
gods,  while  magic  aims  at  its  goal  through  no  such  indirect 
channel,  but  by  the  immediate  control  of  the  mysterious  powers 
of  the  universe. -^^  In  other  words,  as  our  definition  of  reli- 
gion suggested,  the  religious  attitude  is  always  in  some  faint 
degree  social,  whereas  the  attitude  of  magic  may  be  purely 
mechanical. 

So  much  for  the  general  principles  underlying  the  origin  of 
cult, —  a  problem  which  belongs  rather  to  anthropology  than 
to  the  psychology  of  religion.  We  turn  now  to  an  investiga- 
tion much  more  germane  to  the  general  subject  of  this  book  — 
the  question,  namely,  of  the  retention  and  continuation  of  re- 
ligious ceremonies  and  public  worship.  Why,  we  ask,  has  reli- 
gious cult,  begun  in  the  dark  days  of  man's  early  ignorance, 
been  continued  into  our  own  time,  and  by  what  forces  of  hu- 
man nature  are  we  to  account  for  the  modern  man's  adherence 
to  it  ? 

The  answer  to  this  question  must  take  into  account  both  the 
causal  action  of  external  influences  upon  the  retention  of  the 
cult,  and  the  function  performed  by  the  cult  which  makes  it 
desirable  and  desired.  Prominent  among  the  former  must  be 
reckoned  the  tremendous  and  unescapable  influence  of  custom 
and  of  habit.  From  the  earliest  times  the  social  group  has 
seen  to  it  that  the  individual  should  perform  the  approved 
ritualistic  acts.  The  word  custom,  in  fact,  fails  to  express  the 
force  of  the  influence  which  society  here  brings  to  bear  upon 
its   members.     ^'  Ritual,"    says   Sumner,    ^'  is   not   easy   com- 

17  This  is  the  theory  supported  by  Hubert  and  Mauss  ("  Th^orie  G^nerale 
de  la  Magie,"  L'Annee  Sociologique  1902-03);  Durkheim  ("Elementary 
Forms  of  the  Religious  Life,"  Book  I,  Chap.  I)  ;  Jevons  ("  Introduction  to 
the  JStudy  of  Comparative  Religion,"  Lecture  III)  ;  King,  ("Development 
of  Religion,"  Chap.  VII). 

18  This  view  is  held  by  Hartland  (op.  cit.  pp.  85-89)  and  Leuba  (op.  clt. 
Chaps.  Ill  and  VIII).  McDougal  makes  the  essential  distinctive  one  of 
psychological  attitude:  "the  religious  attitude  is  always  that  of  submis- 
sion, the  magical  attitude  that  of  self-assertion."  ("Social  Psychology," 
p.  306  note.) 


/ 


266  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

pliance  with  usage;  it  is  strict  compliance  with  detailed  and 
punctilious  rule.  It  admits  of  no  exceptions  or  deviations."  ^* 
Although  the  iniluence  of  society  upon  the  individual  in  matters 
of  belief  has  been  very  considerable,  it  has  been  but  slight  in 
comparison  with  the  compelling  force  it  has  almost  invariably 
exerted  to  insure  the  observance  of  the  rite.  The  Greek  phi- 
losophers as  a  rule  might  believe  what  they  liked;  but  the 
religious  observances  of  their  land  they  carried  out  like  every 
one  else,  and,  in  fact,  they  seem  hardly  to  have  conceived  the 
possibility  of  refusing  to  do  so.^^  The  force  of  social  disap- 
proval stamped  upon  any  offender  against  the  recognized  forms 
of  religious  behavior  in  all  ancient  and  many  modern  societies  is 
as  irresistible  as  the  veto  which  our  owti  society  puts  upon  the 
indecent  custom  of  the  eating  of  dog  flesh. ^^  Something  dis- 
tantly like  it  is  experienced  when  in  war  time  some  one  con- 
scientious pacifist,  alone  of  all  the  community,  refuses  to  dis- 
play the  flag. 

19"  Folkways,"  (Boston,  Ginn;  1907),  p.  CO. 

20  '*  Aristote  ne  professa  pas  un  moindre  respect  que  Socrate  et  que 
Platon  pour  la  relij^'ion  traditionelle.  Poser  la  question  de  savoir  a'il 
faut  ou  s'il  ne  faut  pas  honorer  les  dieux  de  la  eit4  lui  parait  aussi  strange 
que  de  demander  si  la  neige  est  blanche;  celui  qui  ose  la  soulever  m^rite  la 
bastonnade  tout  aussi  bien  que  celui  qui  diseute  sur  Tamour  filial." 
(Louis,  "Doctrines  Religieuses  des  Philosophes  Grecs."  —  Paris,  Lethiel- 
leux;   1909  —  p.  150.     See  also  pp.  154-55,  and  Arst.  Topica  VI   105.) 

21  Cf.  Boas,  "  The  Mind  of  Primitive  Man,"  Chap.  VIII.  "  Supposing 
an  individual  accustomed  to  eating  dogs  should  inquire  among  us  for 
the  reason  why  we  do  not  eat  dogs,  we  could  only  reply  that  it  is  not 
customary;  and  he  would  be  justified  in  saying  that  dogs  are  tabooed 
among  us,  just  as  much  as  we  are  justified  in  speaking  of  taboos  among 
primitive  people.  If  we  were  hard  pressed  for  reasons,  we  should  prob- 
ably base  our  aversion  to  eating  dogs  or  horses  on  the  seeming  impropriety 
of  eating  animals  that  live  with  us  as  our  friends.  On  the  other  hand, 
we  are  not  accustomed  to  eat  caterpillars,  and  we  should  probably  decline 
to  eat  them  from  feelings  of  disgust.  Cannibalism  is  so  much  abhorred, 
that  we  find  it  difficult  to  convince  ourselves  that  it  belongs  to  the  same 
class  of  aversions  as  those  mentioned  before.  The  fundamental  concept  of 
the  sacredness  of  human  life,  and  the  fact  that  most  animals  will  not 
eat  others  of  the  same  species,  set  off  cannibalism  as  a  custom  by  itself, 
considered  as  one  of  the  most  horrible  aberrations  of  human  nature.  In 
these  three  groups  of  aversions,  disgust  is  probably  the  first  feeling  in  our 
minds,  by  which  we  react  against  the  suggestion  of  partaking  of  these 
kinds  of  food.  We  account  for  our  disgust  by  a  variety  of  reasons,  ac- 
cording to  the  groups  of  ideas  with  which  the  suggested  act  is  associated 
in  our  minds." 


THE  CULT  AND  ITS  CAUSES  267 

But  not  only  does  society,  especially  in  its  less  sophisticated 
stages,  demand  conformity  to  the  approved  cult;  the  individ- 
ual human  being,  even  when  withdrawn  from  social  influence, 
finds  the  adoption  and  crystallization  of  some  form  of  ritual 
both  natural  and  almost  unavoidable.     This  is  due  of  course  to 
the  law  of  habit.     Whatever  we  do  several  times  we  tend  to 
repeat  in  the  same  fashion.     We  dress  and  undress  in  the  same 
way  day  after  day;  in  putting  on  our  coats  one  of  our  arms 
invariably  takes  precedence,  as  of  sacred  right,  over  the  other; 
in  all  the  minutiae  of  our  daily  life  the  established  paths  of  the 
nervous  system  determine  the  order  of  our  doings.     So  it  is 
inevitably  with  our  religious  reactions.     Given  a  man  with  re- 
ligious beliefs  and  emotions  and  let  him  rebel  against  ritual  as 
much  as  he  likes,  he  will  throw  off  the  traditional  forms  only 
to  invent  and  follow  out  a  new  ritual  of  his  own.     If  the  reader 
has  ever  regularly  said  ^'  Grace  "  at  meals,  or  has  observed  the 
procedure  of  those  who  do,  he  knows  how  quickly  the  "  bless- 
ing,"  even  in   the  most  ultra-Protestant  families,  becomes   a 
rite;  how  almost  inevitable  it  is  that  the  most  obstinate  effort 
at  spontaneous  and  varied  expression  yields  at  last  to  the  adop- 
tion of  some  approved  and  habitual  form  of  words.     The  same 
phenomenon   is  noticeable  in  our  most  Protestant   and   anti- 
ritualistic  churches.     Stanton  Coit  has  pointed  out  that  even 
the  religious  service  of  the  Friends,  with  their  long  silences, 
is  a  "  most  dramatic   and   eloquent  ceremonial "  ;^^   and   Dr. 
Henke  writes :     "  The  churches  that  started  out  with  a  lively 
protest  against  the  dead  ritual  of  the  liturgical  churches  have 
manifested  a  constant  tendency  to  adopt  definite  forms  of  wor- 
ship.    We  may  with   propriety  speak   of  the  ritual   of  non- 
liturgical  churches.     The  members   of  the  worshiping  group 
think  it  strange  when  the  regular  order  of  service  is  not  adhered 
to.     They  expect  the  singing  of  hymns,  the  prayer,  the  anthem 
by  the  choir,  the  announcements,  the  sermon,  and  whatsoever 
else  'there  may  be,  to  follow  the  habitual  order  and  adhere  to 
customary  usuages.     Strange  though  it  may  appear,  revivalism 
itself  has  been  ritualized.     In  camp-meetings  and  revival  meet- 
ings the  methods  and  arrangement  of  services  are  the  same  year 
after  year,  and  the  group  consciousness  that  is  developed  at  these 

22  "National  Idealism,"  p.  317. 


268  THE  KELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

gatherings  is  no  less  in  evidence  than  in  primitive  man's  great 
ceremonial  occasions."  '^ 

Thus  it  may  come  about  that  a  given  form  of  ritual  is  retained 
with  little  thought  either  of  pleasing  God  or  of  affecting  the 
audience,  not  merely  as  a  result  of  habit  but  from  the  desire 
that  things  shall  be  done  decently  and  in  order,  combined  with 
the  notion  (due  of  course  to  habit)  that  the  traditional  way  is 
the  only  orderly  and  decent  way.  Not  only  in  religion  but  in 
various  other  activities  many  people  feel  a  kind  of  duty  toward 
form  in  the  abstract.  The  New  England  house-wife  considers 
it  a  moral  obligation  to  keep  all  her  rooms  dustless,  even  though 
no  one  ever  sees  them ;  it  is  a  duty  she  owes  to  the  house.  Many 
a  teacher  has  a  feeling  that  each  day  the  lesson  must  be  prop- 
erly recited, —  the  approved  fomi  of  words  audibly  pronounced 
in  the  class-room  —  no  matter  by  whom  and  quite  regardless  of 
its  effect  on  any  one  in  particular.  The  reader  could  doubtless 
add  many  similar  instances,  and  it  is  plain  that  in  each  case  we 
should  have  an  incipient  but  very  real  ritual,  preserved  for  its 
owm  sake. 

The  use  of  ritual  is  natural  to  man  not  only  because  it  is 
forced  upon  him  by  society  and  because  his  own  nervous  system 
tends  to  act  in  crystallized  forms,  but  also  because  it  appeals  to 
two  of  his  primitive  instincts.  One  of  these  is  the  instinct  of 
gregariousness.  Man  is  a  social  animal ;  he  cannot  keep  away 
from  his  fellows ;  and  to  act  in  unison  and  cooperation  with  them 
is  one  of  his  fundamental  desires.  Especially  does  he  feel  im- 
pelled to  perform  in  company  w^ith  them  actions  which  are  re- 
lated to  his  strongest  sentiments.  Hence  the  native  satisfaction 
in  group  expressions  and  patriotism  and  religion.  The  other  in- 
stinct to  which  I  referred  as  helping  to  explain  the  hold  of 
ritual  upon  human  nature  is  the  impulse  for  self-expression 
(combined  with  the  law  of  ideo-motor  action).  Whatever 
man  believes  and  whatever  he  feels  is  bound  to  work  itself 
out  through  his  nerves  and  muscles  in  some  form  of  activity; 
and  for  most  men  the  form  of  action  which  is  to  express 
their  emotion  will  be  something  of  w^hich  others  may  take  note : 
it  will  be  some  kind  of  celebration.  Not  only  do  we  have  to  ex- 
press ourselves  somehow ;  nearly  all  of  us  like  to  express  at  least 

23  Op.  cit.  p.  87. 


THE  CULT  AND  ITS  CAUSES-  269 

our  more  fervent  emotions  and  beliefs  in  obtrusive  forms.  "  I 
love  anything  ostentatious/'  exclaims  one  of  the  'New  Poets, 
with  the  naive  truthfulness  that  has  made  them  the  enfants  ter- 
ribles  of  our  over-sophisticated  modern  life.  For  nearly  all  of 
us  find  times  when  our  inner  feelings  demand  expression  by 
something  a  bit  primitive  and  sensuous.  The  delicate  tints  will 
not  do  for  our  flags ;  and  in  national  celebrations  we  want  brass 
bands,  drums,  and  fire  crackers.  Our  religious  emotions  seldom 
express  themselves  so  blatantly;  but  the  strictest  Puritan  likes 
to  hear  the  parson  thump  the  desk,  and  most  of  us  are  fond  of 
church  bells  and  organ  music,  and  have  at  least  a  sneaking  in- 
terest in  the  smell  of  incense.  The  absence  of  a  court  and  of 
a  powerful  aristocracy  has,  in  Professor  Stratton's  opinion, 
been  one  of  the  causes  for  the  simpler  and  more  colorless  ritual 
of  Protestant  and  democratic  America.  "  But,"  he  adds, 
"  after  all,  some  violence  has  evidently  been  done  to  human  na- 
ture that  must  be  avenged.  For  the  love  of  noble  ceremony, 
cheated  at  its  rightful  place,  appears  in  the  tawdry  ritualism 
of  '  fraternal '  bodies,  which  in  America  has  had  such  an  un- 
paralleled popularity.  Here  the  staunch  republican,  renounc- 
ing the  cro"«Ti  and  pageantry  of  kings,  can  again  rejoice  in 
dazzling  regalia  and  stilted  phrase.  The  ceremonial  side  of 
these  organizations  shows  an  almost  pathetic  attempt  to  ap- 
pease the  natural  craving  for  action  unhindered,  orderly,  and 
gracious  —  a  craving  which  in  other  countries  finds  its  satis- 
faction in  the  scenes  that  go  with  military  pomp,  with  royalty, 
and  the  service  of  great  cathedrals."  ^* 

In  the  early  part  of  this  chapter  I  tried  to  show  that  the 
external  cult  in  its  origin  was  not  dependent  upon  religious  be- 
lief of  any  explicit  sort.  While  this  is  probably  true  it  is 
necessary  to  add  that  the  particular  forms  of  every  cult  and 
the  continuation  of  cult  in  general  are  largely  dependent  upon 
explicit  religious  beliefs.  Ritual  and  belief  have  influenced 
each  other  mutually  for  ages ;  and  in  all  the  more  developed  re- 
ligions the  kind  of  ritual  which  one  finds  is  largely  determined 
by  the  kind  of  God  believed  in.  As  religion  becomes  more 
self-conscious  and  more  ideational,  the  attempt  to  influence  the 
deity  or  to  please  him  becomes  more  explicit.     This  is  so  obvious 

2*  "  The  Psycholo;^-  of  the  Religious  Life,"  p.  150. 


270  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

that  it  needs  no  argument  nor  illustration  —  although  it  is  a 
fact  astonishingly  unrecognized  hy  many  a  contemporary  an- 
thropologist and  psychologist.  You  cannot  fully  explain  the 
fact  that  people  worship  God  without  referring  to  the  fact 
that  people  believe  in  God. 

So  much  for  the  more  or  less  external  causes  which  originated 
the  cult,  and  have  tended  to  keep  it  going.  They  have  always 
had,  and  they  still  retain,  a  considerable  strength.  If  they  had 
been  unsupported  by  other  and  internal  influences,  however,  it  is 
doubtful  whether  religious  cult  would  have  survived  the  infancy 
of  man.  What  these  inner  forces  are  which  have  so  strongly 
reinforced  the  practice  of  the  cult  we  shall  see  in  the  following 
chapter. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

HOW    THE    CULT    PERFORMS    ITS    FUNCTIONS 

The  retention  of  worship  both  by  the  individual  and  still 
more  by  society  is  to  be  accounted  for  (as  I  have  more  than 
once  insisted)  not  only  through  the  influence  of  relatively  ex- 
ternal causes,  such  as  those  considered  in  the  last  chapter,  but 
also  by  the  function  which  worship  itself  performs.  People 
continue  to  practice  the  cult  not  only  because  society  insists 
and  because  they  believe  that  their  God  is  pleased  by  it,  but 
also  because  they  find  it  pleasant  or  profitable  or  both,  in  its 
immediate  effects  upon  themselves.  This  useful  function  of  the 
cult  may  be  more  or  less  explicitly  conscious  but  in  some  form 
or  other  it  is  to  be  found  in  most  stages  of  development,  high 
or  low.  As  we  have  already  seen  in  another  connection,  it 
brings  a  sense  of  social  solidarity  which  appeals  to  the  gregari- 
ous instinct,  and  at  the  same  time  gives  pleasant  vent  to  the 
instinctive  impulse  for  self-expression.  But  its  chief  function 
is  to  reinforce  religion  and  thus  to  realize  and  conserve  the 
values  which  religion  mediates.  The  nature  and  relative  im- 
portance of  these  values  is  a  large  subject,  and  for  our  present 
purposes  we  need  only  note  that  they  consist  chiefly  in  the  moral 
control  of  life  and  in  the  production  of  a  kind  of  peace,  joy, 
and  hope  for  which  no  other  surety  can  be  found.  The  cult 
aids  in  doing  these  things  for  the  individual  and  for  society  by 
keeping  religious  beliefs  lively  and  vivid,  by  stimulating  re- 
ligious emotions,  and  in  general  by  fastening  the  attention  upon 
religion  in  such  fashion  as  to  make  it  real  and  vital  for  the 
worshiper.^ 

1  A  fact  noted  by  Montesquieu  in  his  "  De  I'Esprit  des  Lois."  —  "  Une 
religion  chargee  de  beaucoup  de  pratique  attache  plus  a  elle  qu'une  autre 
qui  Test  raoins;  on  tient  beaucoup  aux  choses  dont  on  est  continuellement 
occupy."  (Quoted  by  Arnold  in  "The  Preaching  of  Islam"  —  New  York, 
Scribners:  1013  —  p.  417.)  The  very  great  influence  of  both  Hinduism 
and  Catholicism  upon  their  worshipers,  due  largely  to  the  great  detail  of 
their  ceremonial,  bears  out  this  observation. 

271 


27l>  the  religious  CONSCIOUSNESS 

The  ways  in  which  the  cult  performs  its  functi"on  of  enliven- 
ing: religious  faith  and  feeling  are  various.  One  of  the  simplest 
and  most  direct  of  these  consists  in  hringing  to  religion  the  great 
reinforcement  of  reality-feeling  which  comes  from  sensuous  pre- 
sentation. We  saw  in  chapter  X  how  large  a  part  the  senses 
play  in  belief;  how,  in  fact,  sensation  is  the  primitive  source 
and  the  ultimate  test  of  the  real.  Now  one  of  the  things  that 
the  cult  does,  in  both  very  primitive  and  very  advanced  stages, 
is  to  present  to  the  worshiper's  senses  some  object  intimately 
connected  with  his  faith,  in  such  fashion  that  the  object  of  his 
faith  shall  have  almost  the  immediacy  and  concreteness  and 
tangibility  of  material  things.  The  earliest  example  of  this 
reinforcement  of  belief  by  sense  perception  is,  of  course,  to  be 
found  in  the  direct  cult  of  natural  objects  —  trees,  animals, 
streams,  the  heavenly  bodies,  "  stocks  and  stones,"  ^  and  other 
men.^  A  development  and  elaboration  of  this  nature  worship 
is  seen  in  fetich  ism.  The  psychological  effect  of  the  fetich 
upon  the  faith  of  the  "  heathen  "  is  admirably  shown  in  the 
following  sentences  from  Nassau,  a  missionary  who  spent  many 
years  in  West  Africa :  ^'  The  heathen  armed  with  his  fetich 
feels  strong.  He  believes  in  it ;  has  faith  that  it  will  help  him. 
He  can  see  it  and  feel  it.  He  goes  on  his  errand  inspired  with 
confidence  of  success.  .  .  .  The  Christian  convert  is  weak  in 
his  faith.  He  would  like  something  tangible.  He  is  not  sure 
that  he  will  succeed  in  his  errand.  He  goes  at  it  somewhat 
half-hearted  and  probably  fails.  .  .  .  The  weak  ask  the  mis- 
sionary whether  they  may  not  be  allowed  to  carry  a  fetich  only 
for  show."  *  Fetichism  is  a  very  wide-spead  form  of  cult,  and 
the  psychological  function  which  it  serves  in  lending  reality  feel- 
ing to  religious  ideas,  and  strength  to  religious  emotion,  is  at 
the  bottom  of  many  other  religious  practices  which  go  by  other 
names.     The  churinga  of  the  Australian  Arunta  °  —  pieces  of 

2  See  my  "  Psychology  of  Religious  Belief,"  pp.  47-50 ;  also  Frazer, 
"Folk-Lore  in  the  Old  Testament"  (London,  Macmillan:  1919),  Vol.  II, 
Part  II,  Chap.  IV. 

3  The  importance  of  the  senses  in  man-worship  in  antiquity  is  notable. 
Cf.,  for  example,  Wiedemann's  "Religion  of  the  Ancient  Egyptians"  (Lon- 
don, Grevel:  1897),  pp.  174-77.  Frazer's  "Golden  Bough"  (2nd  Ed.  Lon- 
don, Macmillan;    1911)   Vol.  I,  Chap.  VII. 

*"  Fetichism  in  West  Africa,"   (London,  Duckworth;  1904),  pp.  112-113. 
6  Spencer  and  Gillen,  op.  cit.  Chap.  V. 


FUNCTIONS  OF  THE  CULT  273 

wood  or  stone  inscribed  with  the  design  of  the  totem,  and  used 
in  most  of  their  ceremonies  —  perform  the  same  function  as 
the  fetich  of  West  Africa.  In  the  native  temples  of  Samoa, 
according  to  Turner,  there  was  "  generally  something  for  the 
eye  to  rest  upon  with  superstitious  veneration/'  This  was  not 
a  fetich,  nor  was  it  regarded  as  the  habitation  of  a  God,  but  it 
was  placed  in  the  sacred  shrine  because  a  need  was  felt  for 
some  sensuous  object  in  which  one's  faith  in  the  unseen  might 
find  the  needed  support.^  An  example  of  this  utilization  of  the 
senses  among  a  much  more  intelligent  people  is  to  be  found  in 
the  ^^  Shintai ''  of  Japan  —  objects  such  as  a  mirror  or  a  sword 
which  have  become  associated  with  the  deity  and  whose  use 
arose,  according  to  Aston,  out  of  ^'  a  greater  necessity  for  some 
visible  token  of  the  presence  of  God."  ^  In  most  of  these  cases 
the  end  actually  subserved  is  not  explicitly  recognized  as  an 
aim  by  the  worshiper ;  yet  it  is  probably  the  function  which  it 
plays  that,  more  than  anything  else,  keeps  the  custom  a'going 
from  generation  to  generation. 

The  purpose  of  producing  a  subjective  effect  on  the  mind  of 
the  worshiper  rises  to  a  more  self-conscious  level  in  the  case 
of  the  Hindu  officer  "  of  great  shrewdness  and  very  fair  educa- 
tion "  with  whom  Sir  Alfred  Lyall  was  personally  acquainted, 
and  who  "  devoted  several  hours  daily  to  the  elaborate  worship 
of  five  round  pebbles,  which  he  had  appointed  to  be  his  symbol 
of  Omnipotence.  Although  his  general  belief  was  in  one  all- 
embracing  Divinity,  he  must  have  something  symbolic  to  handle 
and  address."  ^ 

But  the  form  of  cult  which  most  strikingly  utilizes  the  sup- 
port of  the  senses  is  idolatry.  The  need  of  an  idol  is  often 
taken  as  a  matter  of  course.  The  Chinese  women  of  Sze  Chuan, 
quoted  by  Mrs.  Bird  Bishop,  were  "  quite  unable  to  un- 
derstand how  people  could  pray  ^  unless  they  had  a  god  in  the 
room.'  "  ®  No  one  who  has,  with  any  degree  of  intelligent 
sympathy,  watched  the  practice  of  idolatry  in  its  more  earnest 
form,  as  for  example  in  India,  can  have  failed  to  recognize  the 

6  Turner,  "  Samoa  "    (London,  Macmillan:    1884). 

7  "  Shinto,  the  Way  of  the  Gods"  (London,  Longmans:  1905),  pp.  70-71. 
B"  Asiatic  Studies"    (2nd  Ed.,  London,  Murray:   I8S4),  p.  10. 

9  "The  Yangtze  Valley  and  Beyond"   (London,  Murray:   1900).     Vol,  I, 
p.  257. 


274  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

real  help  which  it  seems  to  bring  to  many  of  those  who  make 
use  of  it.  The  Hindu  widow  who  goes  to  the  shrine  of  Mahadev 
with  her  little  offering  of  yellow  marigolds  and  Ganges  water, 
and  who,  after  placing  the  flowers  before  the  lingam  of  the 
"  Great  God  "  and  pouring  the  sacred  water  reverently  upon 
it,  pauses  for  a  moment  in  silent  prayer,  goes  out  of  the  temple 
and  back  to  her  sad  home  and  the  weary  monotony  of  her  life 
with  renewed  hope  and  comfort.  If  there  were  no  image  pres- 
ent, if  the  temple  were  empty  like  a  Protestant  Church,  would 
she  find  the  same  degree  of  comfort  there  ?  With  different  up- 
bringing and  education  she  might.  With  a  different  religion 
and  a  wider  outlook  she  might.  But  then  she  would  not  be  the 
woman  of  our  illustration.  Repugnant  as  idolatry  seems  to  us, 
there  can  be  no  doubt  that  as  a  fact  this  Hindu  widow,  and 
many  like  her,  finds  a  reinforcement  for  her  faith  in  the  sensu- 
ous presence  of  a  physical  object, —  a  reinforcement  of  faith 
which  she  at  any  rate,  being  what  she  is,  could  not  find  without 
it.  Doubtless  the  ''  Great  God,"  Mahadev,  is  present  every- 
where ;  but  what  is  that  abstract  doctrine  compared  to  the  sense 
of  the  closeness  of  the  deity  and  to  the  realization  of  his  pres- 
ence which  come  to  the  poor  soul  when  she  sees  the  sacred  symbol 
of  the  mystery  of  life  directly  before  her,  and  when  she  pours 
her  offering  and  lays  her  flowers  upon  this  concrete  object  in 
which  the  Great  God  has  consented,  for  the  moment  and  for  her 
sake,  to  take  up  his  miraculous  abode  ? 

Presumably  the  majority  of  those  who  in  the  lower  religions 
make  use  of  images  have  no  thought  of  the  subjective  effect  of 
the  image  upon  their  own  faith  and  feeling;  while  on  the 
other  hand,  thousands  of  relatively  intelligent  men  continue  the 
practice  with  little  belief  in  the  supernatural  quality  of  the 
image  before  them,  chiefly  because  they  find  their  religious  sense 
stimulated  by  the  presence  of  a  physical  object  which  they  have 
from  infancy  been  trained  to  associate  with  the  Divine.^"  One 
very  unintelligent  Hindu  w^hom  I  met  in  India  showed  me  his 
idols  and  told  me  they  were  not  images  of  his  gods  but  the  very 

10  "  An  image  ma_y  be,  even  to  two  votaries  kneeling  side  by  side  before 
it,  two  utterly  different  things;  to  the  one  it  may  be  only  a  symbol,  a 
portrait,  a  memento,  while  to  the  other  it  is  an  intelligent  and  active  being, 
Idv  virtue  of  a  life  or  spirit  dwelling  in  it  and  acting  through  it."  (Tylor, 
♦'Primitive  Culture,"  Vol,  II,  p.  154.) 


FUNCTIONS  OF  THE  CULT  275 

gods  themselves.  Another,  rather  higher  in  the  intellectual 
scale,  said  to  mc,  when  I  asked  him  about  the  image  of  Shiva 
which  he  was  worshiping,  '^  The  image  is  not  Shiva ;  Shiva  is 
in  heaven.  But  I  want  to  worship  Shiva,  so  I  make  a  picture 
or  image  as  like  Him  in  appearance  as  I  can,  and  then  I  pray 
to  Shiva  in  front  of  it  because  it  helps  me  to  pray."  By  a 
third  Hindu  —  this  one  a  learned  Bengalee  Brahmin  who  gave 
me  a  long  dissertation  on  the  religion  of  his  country  —  the 
subjective  aspect  of  the  cult  and  its  retention  explicitly  for  the 
sake  of  its  psychological  effects,  was  clearly  recognized  and  em- 
phasized. *'  The  idol,''  he  said,  "  is  useful  in  aiding  visualiza- 
tion and  concentration.  It  is  a  sensuous  symbol,  just  as  the 
word  G-O-D  is.  Both  are  symbols,  one  tangible  and  visible, 
the  other  audible;  and  both  are  helpful  to  our  finite  minds  in 
standing  for  the  Infinite.  The  man  who  worships  before  an 
idol  in  effect  prays :  ^  O  God,  come  and  dwell  in  this  image 
before  me  for  the  moment  that  I  may  worship  thee  here  con- 
cretely ! '  "  " 

The  need  felt  by  less  cultivated  minds  for  something  ob- 
jective, visible,  tangible,  about  which  to  crystallize  their  re- 
ligious belief  and  feeling,  is  seen  in  the  popular  development 
of  even  those  most  subjective  religions.  Buddhism  and  Jainism. 
For  some  time,  to  be  sure,  after  the  death  of  the  Founder, 
Buddhism  seems  to  have  continued  its  almost  cultless  form  of 
religion  (though  some  form  of  ceremonial  there  was  from 
the  beginning)  ;  but  archa3ological  research  shows  that  some- 
where between  the  first  and  fifth  centuries  A.  D.  the  use  of 
images  of  the  Buddha  and  the  worship  of  them  was  introduced 
and  became  widely  popular.  ^^  So  prominent  a  place  do  they 
hold  in  the  popular  religion  of  Buddhists  in  all  parts  of  the 

11  It  is,  perhaps,  of  some  significance  in  this  connection  that  the 
earliest  use  of  images  in  India  seems  to  have  been  in  the  worship  of  the 
one  Vedie  deity  who  was  invisible  —  namely  Indra.  (Cf.  Rig  Veda,  IV, 
24,  10,  and  VIII  1,  5.)  It  certainly  is  significant  that  when  the  Aryans 
admitted  into  their  religious  community  the  low-born  Shudras,  they 
adopted  the  latters'  use  of  images;  and  that  this  new  form  of  cult,  in 
virtue  of  the  greater  satisfaction  it  gave  to  the  psychical  needs  of  the 
worshipers,  soon  supplanted  the  ancient  and  venerated  Vedic  cult  —  a 
worship  of  intangible  and  distant  and  often  abstract  deities. 

12  See  Ferguson's  "History  of  Indian  and  Eastern  Architecture"  (Lon- 
don, Murray:  1876),  p.  125. 


276  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

world  to-day,  that  it  is  impossible  to  think  of  modern  Buddhism 
without  them.  A  parallel  development  is  to  be  traced  in  the 
development  of  Jainism.  A  religion  whose  professed  aim  has 
always  been  of  an  almost  purely  subjective  sort  has  covered 
large  sections  of  India  with  elaborately  carved  temples,  and 
has  ever\^iere  filled  its  temples  with  images  of  its  twenty- 
four  mythical  ^^  Tirthankaras, —  for  the  very  good  reason  that 
through  centuries  of  experience  its  devotees  have  found  their 
religious  faith  and  feeling  strengthened  by  the  presence  of  these 
visible  and  tangible  s\Tnbols. 

Much  more  may  thus  be  said  in  defense  of  the  practice  of 
"  idolatry  "  than  most  of  us  have  been  brought  up  to  suppose. 
It  is  based  upon  a  perfectly  sound  psychological  principle,  and 
it  appeals  to  a  widely  felt  human  need;  and  it  is  this  fact 
that  has  given  it  so  wide-spread  and  enthusiastic  adoption 
through  so  many  centuries.^*  Nor  is  the  psychological  princi- 
ple in  question  limited  to  fetichism  and  idolatry.  It  explains 
a  large  part  of  the  appeal  to  the  senses  of  any  and  every  sort, 
so  common  in  the  higher  as  in  the  lower  religions.  The  mira- 
cle play  in  the  Middle  Ages  as  well  as  the  temple  processions 
of  Egypt  and  India,  the  use  of  images  of  the  Saints  in  Greek 
and  Roman  Catholicism,  the  cult  of  relics  in  Christianity  and 
Buddhism,  depend  for  much  of  their  effectiveness  upon  the 
vivifying  reinforcement  which  religious  belief  and  feeling  re- 
ceive from  contact  with  the  visible  and  tangible.  And  no  part 
of  Christian  worship  owes  more  of  its  psychological  effect  to 
its  connection  with  the  physical  than  does  its  crowning  sacra- 
ment, the  Eucharist.  This  is  of  course  especially  true  of  the 
Catholic  form  of  the  Eucharist,  combined  as  it  is  with  the  be- 
lief in  transubstantiation.^^     The  good  Romanist,  or  the  good 

13  This  is  hardly  exact,  as  one  of  the  twenty-four  (and  possibly  a 
second)    was  an  historical  person. 

1*  For  further  discussion  of  the  merits  and  demerits  of  idolatry,  especially 
in  India,  see  Farquhar,  "  The  Crown  of  Hinduism  "  ( Oxford  University 
Press:  1913),  Chap.  VIII;  Howells,  "The  Soul  of  India"  (London,  Clark 
and  Co.:  1913).  pp.  416-21;  Mrs.  Besant,  "In  Defence  of  Hinduism," 
(Benares;  T.  P.  S.)  pp.  1-5;  and  my  "India  and  Its  Faiths,"  pp.  28-33.  I 
would  not  leave  the  impression  that  I  am  an  advocate  of  idolatry.  Doubt- 
less it  has  certain  decided  psychological  advantages;  but  with  equal 
certainty  it  has  certain  grave  dangers.  It  makes  religion  easy  —  and 
sometimes  cheap. 

15  The  history  of  the  development  of  the  belief  in  transubstantiation  in 


FUNCTIONS  OF  THE  CULT  217 

high-churcliman  who  believes  he  has  partaken  of  the  very  body 
of  God  or  of  something  spiritually  equivalent  thereto,  has  the 
same  sort  of  advantage  over  the  Protestant  that  the  African 
fetich  worshiper  has  over  the  converted  African,  as  described  by 
Nassau.^^  But  even  the  modified  form  which  the  Eucharist 
assumes  in  the  Protestant  Church  is  not  wholly  devoid  of  the 
unique  power  which  sensuous  objects  exert  upon  faith.  If  I 
am  not  mistaken,  an  analysis  of  the  state  of  mind  of  the  average 
Protestant  who  partakes  of  the  Communion  would  show  that 
its  value  to  him  lies  largely  in  the  increased  vividness  of  faith 
which  it  produces,  by  connecting  the  concept  of  God  and  Christ 
with  elements  which  are  visible  and  tangible  and  which  may  be 
tasted  and  smelled. 

What  has  been  said  of  the  senses  applies  only  in  less  degree 
to  the  imagination;  and  the  cult  or  ritual  in  every  historical 
religion  adds  to  the  strength  of  the  worshiper's  faith  by  pre- 
senting him  with  vivid  mental  images  which  lend  their  reality- 
feeling  to  the  abstract  and  unreal  dogmas  of  theology. ^^     More 

the  early  church  is  a  rather  striking  illustration  of  the  need  felt  for  a  visi- 
ble and  tangible  embodiment  of  faith.  "  Die  Christologie,"  says  Harnack, 
in  summing  up  the  forces  that  tended  to  produce  the  new  dogma,  "  forderte 
ein  immer  gegenwiirtiges  christologisches  Mysterium,  das  empfunden  und 
genossen  werden  kann "  ("  Dogmengeschichte."  Freiburg,  Mohr:  1898) 
—  p.  286 ) .  Already  by  the  close  of  the  Sixth  Century  it  was  definitely 
settled  that  the  body  of  Christ  was  "  as  truly  present  on  the  altar  of  the 
church  as  it  once  was  on  the  altar  of  the  cross  "  ( Schaff,  "  History  of  the 
Christian  Church.—  New  York,  Scribner :  1867  —  Vol.  Ill,  p.  508 ) .—  Hand 
in  hand  with  this  doctrine  came  the  custom  of  reserving  the  sacred  ele- 
ments within  the  Church  at  all  times,  that  the  divine  presence  might 
ever  be  assured  and  that  believers  might  be  able  to  strengthen  their  faith 
by  the  evidence  of  their  senses.  The  comfort  and  assurance  that  this 
visible  presence  brings  to  the  faithful  is  a  fact  of  common  recognition 
among  all  deeply  religious  Catholics  and  high  churchmen.  "  Thus  the 
sons  of  faith  might  go  to  be  near  Him  and  adore  Him,  for  his  '  delight 
is  with  the  sons  of  men';  and  His  loving  condescension  has  made  Him 
the  '  prisoner  of  the  tabernacle,'  and  leads  Him  to  give  Himself  to  be 
'  exposed  '  for  worship,  and  in  the  service  of  the  Benediction  to  bless  His 
people  with  a  blessing  like  that  of  His  uplifted  hand,  behind  the  veil,  so 
to  speak,  of  the  enshrining  wafer."  (Gore,  "The  Body  of  Christ"  —  New 
York,  Scribner:  1901  —  p.  137). —  The  desire  of  every  Catholic  Church  to 
possess  and  keep  under  its  altar  the  relic  of  some  saint  has  much  the  same 
psychological  explanation  as  that  of  the  sacrament  just  discussed.  An 
Italian  priest,  in  explaining  the  custom  to  me,  remarked :  "  II  popolo  deve 
avere  una  cosa  sensibile." 

10  See  p.  272  of  this  book. 

17  This  is  plainly  seen  in  the  efi'orts  of  the  Christian  cult  to  bring  home 


278  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

will  be  said  of  this  moans  by  which  the  cult  fulfills  its  func- 
tions wluMi  wc  come  to  deal  with  symbolism. 

The  appeal  made  by  the  forms  of  public  worship  to  the 
Aesthetic  sense  is  too  obvious  to  need  much  emphasis  in  this 
place,  but  too  important  to  be  left  wholly  unmentioncd.  The 
ritual  and  the  surroundings  of  the  cult  are  made  beautiful  in 
all  stages  of  human  society  (and  according  to  the  taste  of  each 
stage),  not  only  of  direct  purpose  but  also  through  the  spontane- 
ous impulse  for  self-expression.  Both  the  religious  and  the 
aesthetic  tendencies  of  man  have  something  in  common  with 
the  play  impulse  —  namely,  a  certain  freedom  from  the  re- 
straints of  the  actual,  a  joyful  liberty  to  dwell  in  the  realm  of 
the  imagination,  and  a  consequent  reaction  which  expresses 
itself  in  forms  that  delight  the  sense  and  which  are  ends  in 
themselves.^*  The  feelings,  beliefs,  and  impulses  which  we 
call  religious,  like  all  other  mental  contents,  have  their  motor 
tendencies  and  inevitably  work  themselves  out  into  action ;  and 
the  action  in  which  they  result  is  just  the  cult.  It  is,  there- 
fore, natural  that  the  cult  should  have  an  intrinsically  sesthetic 
element  of  its  owti.     "  One  exposes  oneself  to  grave  misunder- 

to  the  worshiper  the  image  of  the  human  Christ,  in  concrete  imaginable 
form.  The  importance  of  this  was  felt  as  early  as  the  time  of  the  writing 
of  the  Fourth  Gospel.  The  Logos  of  Philosophy  and  of  the  Greek  philoso- 
phers, though  accepted  in  one  sense  by  the  Evangelist,  was  felt  to  be  too 
abstract  to  be  humanly  helpful,  hence  the  writer  proclaims,  "  The  Logos 
became  flesh  and  dwelt  among  us,  and  we  beheld  his  glory."  And  the  writer 
of  the  Epistle  of  John  says,  "  That  which  we  have  heard,  that  which  we 
have  seen  with  our  eyes,  that  which  we  beheld  and  our  hands  handled  con- 
cerning the  Logos,  .  .  .  that  declare  we  unto  you." 

18  The  question  is  occasionally  raised  whether  religious  emotion  and 
sesthetic  emotion  be  not  identical.  From  the  point  of  view  assumed  in  this 
book  the  answer  must,  pretty  plainly,  be  that  they  are  not  identical,  but 
that  they  have  much  in  common.  There  is,  of  course,  no  specifically  re- 
ligious emotion,  but  all  emotions  are  religious  which  include  a  conscious- 
ness of  one's  relation  to  the  Determiner  of  Destiny.  In  all  theistic  religions 
and  in  most  of  the  higher  polytheistic  religions  the  thought  of  the  deity  is 
suffused  with  or  at  least  associated  with  the  more  or  less  dim  notion  of 
the  Beautiful.  Hence  religious  emotion  is  likely  to  contain,  explicitly  or 
implicitly,  a  reference  to  some  kind  of  beauty  —  though  this  is  by  no 
means  essential  or  universal.  And,  on  the  other  hand,  certain  beautiful 
objects  which  excite  the  aesthetic  emotion  are  likely  to  rouse  religious  emo- 
tion as  well,  particularly  if  these  objects  are  associated  in  the  individual's 
experience  and  training  with  religious  ideas,  or  if  in  themselves  they  be 
such  as  to  suggest  the  Determiner  of  Destiny,  through  their  sublimity  or 
some  other  cosmic  quality. 


FUXCTIOXS  OF  THE  CULT  279 

standings,"  says  Durkheim,  ^^  if,  in  explaining  rites,  lie  believes 
that  each  gesture  has  a  precise  object  and  a  definite  reason 
for  its  existence.  There  are  some  which  serve  nothing;  they 
merely  answer  the  need  felt  by  worshipers  for  action,  motion, 
gesticulation.  They  are  to  be  seen  jumping,  whirling,  danc- 
ing, crying  and  singing, —  though  it  may  not  always  be  possi- 
ble to  give  a  meaning  to  all  these  actions.  Therefore  religion 
would  not  be  itself  if  it  did  not  give  some  place  to  the  free 
combinations  of  thought  and  activity,  to  play,  to  art,  to  all  that 
recreates  the  spirit  that  has  been  fatigued  by  too  great  slavish- 
ness  of  daily  work;  the  very  same  causes  which  called  it  into 
existence  make  this  a  necessity.  Art  is  not  merely  an  exter- 
nal ornament  with  which  the  cult  has  adorned  itself  in  order 
to  dissimulate  certain  of  its  features  which  may  be  too  austere 
and  too  rude;  but  rather  in  itself,  the  cult  is  something 
esthetic."  1^ 

But  though  aesthetic  in  itself  quite  spontaneously,  very  early 
in  its  history  the  cult  is  also  deliberately  adorned  by  added 
efforts  of  self-conscious  art ;  and  this  purposeful  beautifying  of 
the  forms  of  public  worship  continues  to  characterize  it,  ex- 
cept in  unusual  cases,  throughout  its  history.  The  purpose  for 
which  this  is  done  is  twofold  —  sometimes  it  is  in  order  to 
glorify  the  deity  in  whose  honor  the  cult  is  performed;  some- 
times it  is  for  the  sake  of  the  psychological  effect  that  beauty 
is  calculated  to  make  upon  the  participant.  The  objective  aim 
of  pleasing  and  glorifying  the  Lord  is  of  course  most  often  seen 
in  the  more  primitive  and  less  sophisticated  stages  of  culture, 
and  the  subjective  aim  of  affecting  the  worshipers  comes  out 
most  plainly  among  more  intelligent  and  self-conscious  peoples ; 
yet  both  motives  are  to  be  found,  with  varying  emphasis,  in 
nearly  all  communal  worship  except  the  most  primitive  and 
the  most  sophisticated.  The  objective  moment  is  the  dominant 
one  in  most  ancient  cults,  for  example  in  the  worship  of  the 
Hebrews  as  portrayed  in  the  Old  Testament.  The  Temple  at 
Jerusalem  was  adorned  chiefly  in  order  that  Yahve  might  be 

19  Op.  cit.  pp.  381-82.  Professor  Yrjo  Hirn  has  worked  out  in  detail 
the  contributions  made  by  architecture,  sculpture,  painting,  decorative  art, 
music,  and  especially  poetry  and  the  drama  to  the  effectiveness  of  the 
Roman  Catholic  ritual. —  "The  Sacred  Shrine"  (London,  Macmillan; 
1912).     Chaps.  V-IX. 


280  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

glorified,  and  its  builders  made  it  as  gorgeous  as  their  some- 
what barbaric  taste  could  devise.  So,  looking  back  at  an  earlier 
time,  their  historian  draws  a  realistic  picture  of  the  contempor- 
aries of  Closes  contributing  for  the  construction  of  the  Ark  in 
which  Yahvch  was  to  dwell  '^  gold  and  silver  and  brass  and  blue 
and  purple  and  scarlet,  and  fine  linen,  and  goats'  hair  and 
rauLs'  skins  dvod  red  and  porpoise  skin  and  acacia  wood,  onyx 
stones  and  stones  to  be  set."  ^°  Our  modern  Christian  churches 
are  also  made  glorious  with  architectural  design,  sculptural 
adornment,  the  light  of  many-colored  glass,  and  the  fragrance 
of  flowers ;  but  the  aim  is  quite  consciously  to  produce  a  cer- 
tain desired  effect  upon  the  minds  of  the  worshipers.  Dr. 
Miiller-Freienfels  has  pointed  out  that  this  subjective  influence 
wrought  by  art  is  brought  about  in  two  ways ; —  namely  by 
increasing  the  strength  of  the  emotional  life  in  general,  and  also 
by  changing  its  quality  and  redirecting  it  into  new  channels. 
"  Religious  exaltation  requires  a  certain  intensity  of  the  en- 
tire emotional  life,  otherwise  the  religious  sense  remains  dry 
and  weak.  But  in  art  there  is  found  an  excellent  means  for 
rousing  and  enlivening  all  the  feelings,  without  putting  to  sleep 
the  higher  sentiments  as  alcohol  and  other  stimulants  do." 
Especially  does  music  possess  this  stimulating  effect  upon  the 
emotions.  "  Experimental  psychology  shows  us  that  the  respir- 
ation and  circulation  are  especially  influenced  by  rhythm,  all 
sorts  of  associative  influences  are  added  to  this,  and  the  in- 
fluence of  music  as  a  whole  acts  as  a  continual  excitant,  making 
all  the  feelings  stronger  and  deeper.  If  now  in  such  an  emo- 
tional condition,  the  thought  is  directed  toward  the  Divine, 
whether  by  the  words  of  the  song  or  the  following  address  of 
the  preacher,  it  finds  the  soil  already  prepared  and  recep- 
tive. In  its  power  of  intensifying  the  feelings  lies  the  great 
significance  of  music  for  religion."  ^^  The  other  arts,  accord- 
ing to  Dr.  Miiller-Freienfels,  have  also  some  influence  of  this 
general  nature  upon  the  emotional  life;  but  their  chief  value 
in  bringing  about  the  desired  religious  state  of  mind  is  to  be 
found  in  their  ability  to  transform  the  quality  of  emotion  and 

20  Exodu8  XXV,  3-7. 

21  "  Die  psychologische  ^Yirkung  der  Kunst  auf  das  religiose  Gefiihlsle- 
ben."     (Ztsft.  f.  Relspsy,  IV,  369-75.— Feb.,  1911.) 


FUNCTIONS  OF  THE  CULT  281 

lead  it  into  new  channels.  "  For  in  art  is  to  be  found  the  most 
potent  means  of  transferring  to  others  the  feelings  of  men  of  fine 
and  deeper  natures."  Music  has  this  power  to  a  great  extent, 
but  it  is  in  poetry  that  is  to  be  found  the  most  efficient  source 
of  this  refining  influence.  Its  power  is  seen  especially  in  its 
tendency  to  enlarge  the  religious  conceptions  and  to  raise  the 
mind  from  the  narrow  and  concrete  to  the  more-inclusive 
■  and  universal."^ 

But  while  the  ritual  by  its  beauty  may  often  create  for 
the  observer  the  religious  atmosphere,  it  produces  its  greatest 
effect  when  the  observer  becomes  a  participant  as  well.  For 
then  a  new  and  powerful  psychological  mechanism  is  set  in  mo- 
tion for  the  production  of  the  religious  sentiment.  The  law 
of  "  association  "  holds  not  only  of  "  ideas  ''  but  of  various 
mental  states  of  a  more  general  and  less  sharply  defined  nature, 
including  such  things  as  feelings,  will  attitudes,  emotions,  and 
moods.  And  just  as  one  can  call  up  the  last  half  of  a  verse  of 
poetry  better  by  beginning  with  the  first  half  and  getting  a 
start,  so  to  speak,  than  by  trying  to  recall  it  without  preliminary 
or  associate,  so  one  can  induce  a  mood  more  easily  by  summon- 
ing first  some  fairly  common  associate  in  the  form  of  an  act. 
For  acts  are  directly  under  voluntary  control,  while  moods  can 
be  induced  or  driven  off  only  by  indirect  methods.  It  must  be 
remembered,  moreover,  that  the  relation  between  acts  and  emo- 
tions is  not  one  merely  of  association ;  but  that  (if  there  be  any 
truth  at  all  in  the  James-Lange  theory)  the  kinsesthetic  sensa- 
tions and  the  other  psychical  correlates  of  activity  constitute  an 
integral  part  of  emotion.  Now  with  most  religious  persons  cer- 
tain bodily  acts  and  attitudes  have,  since  earliest  childhood,  been 
associated  with  religion,  and  the  feeling  of  them  has  become  a 
part  of  that  psychic  complex  which  one  knows  as  religious  emo- 
tion.      I  refer  to  such  things  as  the  bowed  head,  the  folded 

22 "  Wahrend  die  bildende  Kunst  im  allgemeinen  die  Gefiihle  durch 
Uebertragung  ins  Anshchauliche  konkreter  und  intensiver  macht,  losen 
Musik  und  Pcesie  die  Gefiihle  eher  von  Irdischen  los  und  heben  sie  in 
abstraktere  geistigere  Gebiete  empor.  Es  ist  darum  verstiindlich,  wenn 
in  den  romanischen  und  katolishen  Liindern  starkere  Beziehungen  zu  den 
bildenden  Kunst  sind,  wahrend  die  gewaitigsten  und  tiefaten  religiosen 
Chorwerke  und  Dichtungen  auf  germanischen  und  protestantischen  Boden 
erbliiht  sind."     Op.  cit.  p.  375. 


282  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

hands,  the  kneeling  posture,  the  constraint  of  the  motionless  and 
silent  attitude,  the  repetition  of  familiar  and  sacred  words,  the 
singinpj  in  unison  with  others  of  the  hymns  of  the  faith.  The 
repetition  of  those  bodily  acts  not  only  induces  bv  association 
the  reliffious  sentiment  with  which  thov  have  been  connected 
since  childhood ;  the  feeling  of  these  acts  is  a  considerable  part 
of  the  religious  emotion. 

One  of  the  most  important  ways  in  which  public  worship 
strengthens  the  faith  of  the  individual  is  by  bringing  power- 
fullv  into  his  mind  the  sense  of  social  confirmation.  It  is 
hard  to  believe  anything  which  everyone  else  doubts,  hard  to 
cherish  a  feeling  which  everyone  else  ridicules,  and  hard  to 
resist  a  feeling  or  a  belief  which  everyone  else  cherishes.  To  a 
considerable  extent  the  ritual  even  if  repeated  alone  would  have 
this  power  of  forcibly  suggesting  faith  and  feeling;  for  it 
summons  into  the  marginal  region  of  the  worshiper's  conscious- 
ness the  sense  of  a  long  line  of  past  and  venerated  generations, 
of  whose  faith  the  ritual  is  a  kind  of  crystallization.  So  great 
is  the  force  of  confirmation  from  the  authority  of  the  past,  that 
it  is  unlikely  any  ritual  can  ever  attain  its  full  effect  until 
it  has  reached  a  considerable  age.^^     And  when  the  voice  of  the 

23  Many  of  the  leaders  of  the  Church  of  England  are  so  well  aware  of 
this  psychological  fact  that  they  oppose  every  slight  change  even  in  the 
wording  of  their  ritual.  In  the  opinion  of  the  Rev.  Percy  Dearmer,  (who 
here  expresses  the  views  of  a  large  number  of  his  colleagues)  "  The  English 
Church  does  not  now  press  doctrinal  conformity  to  her  own  distinctive 
formulae  beyond  the  point  of  a  general  acceptance  or  '  assent ' ;  in  the 
second  place,  she  does  require  an  undertaking  as  to  ritual  that  admits  of 
no  compromise.  Freedom  to  think,  freedom  to  discuss,  freedom  to  develop, 
are  necessary  to  the  very  existence  of  life  and  truth  in  a  Church;  but  for 
the  priest  to  omit  or  to  alter  the  communion  services  of  that  Church  is 
fatal  to  Christian  fellowship,  and  robs  the  people  of  their  rights." 
(Quoted  from  the  "Parson's  Handbook"  by  Stanton  Coit,  in  "National 
Idealism,"  p.  113.)  Such  a  hard  and  fast  rule  will  seem  to  most  of  us 
a  rather  absurdly  rigid  application  of  a  sound  psychological  principle; 
and,  what  is  more  important,  it  leaves  out  of  account  the  fact  that  in  the 
course  of  centuries  an  act  of  ritual  may  cease  to  express  anything  really 
vital  in  the  belief  of  the  worshipers,  and  that  when  this  comes  about  it 
loses  something  even  of  its  emotional  hold  over  them  and  nearly  all  of  its 
justification.  On  the  other  hand  it  would  probably  be  flying  in  the  face  of 
psychology  to  go  to  the  other  extreme,  suggested  by  Mr.  Coit,  and  make  a 
new  ritual  that  should  be  completely  up-to-date.  The  wise  course  would 
seem  to  be  a  gradual  and  continuous  modification  of  the  ritual,  so  that 
it  may  still  retain  most  of  the  strength  that  comes  from  antiquity,  without 


FUNCTIONS  OF  THE  CULT  283 

past  as  heard  in  the  ritual  becomes  the  voice  of  our  living  fel- 
lows too,  when  one  hears  other  worshipers  on  all  sides  repeat- 
ing in  tones  of  conviction  the  doctrines  which  one  has  always 
thought  one  believed,  the  force  of  social  confirmation  becomes, 
at  least  for  the  moment,  too  great  to  be  resisted,  and  faith 
marches  triumphant  over  doubt.^*  The  recitation  in  unison 
of  the  Creed  is  thus  recognized  by  a  large  portion  of  the  churches 
of  Christendom  as  an  important  part  of  the  service,  and  its 
purpose  is  obviously  and  consciously  subjective.  The  recitation 
in  unison  of  the  Apostles'  Creed  by  all  the  congregation,  as 
found  in  so  many  of  the  Protestant  churches,  is  as  much  an 
implement  of  worship  and  a  direct  stimulus  to  faith  as  is  the 
use  of  images  in  many  a  less  sophisticated  religious  community. 
And  in  the  Catholic  Church  the  psychological  effect  of  similar 
methods  is  surely  not  less.  The  triumphant  sweep  of  the 
Nicene  Creed  when  effectively  sung  — 

"  Credo  in  unum  Deum, 
Patrem  omnipotentem, 
Factorem  coeli  et  terrae  " — 

with  the  audience  falling  upon  their  faces  as  one  man  at  the 
words, 

"  Et  homo  f actus  est " — 

this  is  enough  to  make,  for  the  moment,  a  good  Catholic  of  the 
most  tough-skinned  heretic  and  doubter  who  is  willing  to  give 

demanding  too  much  re-interpretation  on  the  part  of  the  modern-minded 
worshiper.  One  must  also  remember  that  there  are  various  kinds  of  people 
in  the  world,  and  that  what  holds  for  one  sort  may  be  untrue  of  some 
other.  For  the  great  majority  ritual  seems  to  need  the  reinforcement  of 
tradition;  yet  in  many  of  our  large  cities  will  be  found  little  groups  of 
radical  thinkers  who  are  able  to  find  satisfaction  in  a  ritual  invented  or 
put  together  by  themselves. 

24  The  enormous  influence  of  cult  upon  belief  is  strikingly  illustrated  in 
the  death  of  Roman  Paganism.  The  old  religion  had  indeed  been  in  a 
state  of  decrepitude  for  centuries,  but  long  after  the  wide  spread  of  Chris- 
tianity it  still  clung  to  life  with  surprising  tenacity  and  numbered  hun- 
dreds of  thousands  among  its  devotees.  But  when  the  Emperor  Theodosiua 
forcibly  closed  the  temj)les  and  forbade  the  cult,  the  old  religion  very 
quickly  disappeared  in  nearly  every  part  of  the  empire.  It  was  evidently 
the  practice  of  the  cult  that  kept  the  old  religion  alive  for  the  last  cen- 
tury or  more  of  its  existence,  by  placing  it  constantly  before  the  attention 
and  maintaining  the  habit  of  belief.  An  instructive  account  of  the  matter 
will  be  found  in  Chapter  28  of  Gibbon's  "  Decline  and  Fall." 


284  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

rein  to  his  imagination  and  feelings;  while  the  true  believer 
goes  away  with  reinforcement  to  his  faith  sufficient  to  last  at 
any  rate  till  the  next  high  mass. 

One  very  interesting  thing  about  the  religious  utility  of  the 
public  recitation  of  the  creed  is  the  peculiar  fact  that  it  loses 
but  little  of  its  psychological  power  for  the  strengthening  of 
faith  and  fooling  by  being  recited  in  an  unknown  tongue  or 
even  by  containing  certain  details  which  the  audience  does 
not  believe.  Every  student  of  the  religions  of  the  East  must 
have  been  struck  with  the  enormous  importance  there  assigned 
to  the  letter  of  the  sacred  texts,  an  importance  that  increases 
rather  than  decreases  as  the  language  of  the  text  is  forgotten 
and  its  meaning  nearly  lost.  Nor  is  this  phenomenon  confined 
to  the  various  non-Christian  religions.  No  doubt  a  large  num- 
ber of  Roman  Catholics,  even  among  the  ignorant,  have  a  fair 
understanding  (thanks  to  the  instruction  given  by  the  Church) 
of  the  Latin  prayers  which  they  recite ;  but  not  the  most  ardent 
Romanist  would  deny  that  to  many  of  his  fellow  religionists 
the  prayers  which  they  piously  repeat  convey  no  meaning  and 
are  morelv  a  collection  of  sounds  which  one  has  revered  since 
childhood.  It  is  the  svllables  themselves  that  are  hallowed  and 
the  pious  reciter  will  often  object  strenuously  to  any  change 
in  them,  regarding  all  attempts  at  revision  or  rationalization  as 
a  kind  of  shocking  heresy.  Trevelyan,  describing  the  religious 
condition  of  England  under  James  I,  recounts  that  "  in  1608  a 
clergyman,  who  was  more  alive  to  his  duties  than  most  of  his 
fellow-laborers,  complained  that  his  flock  ^  superstitiously  refuse 
to  pray  in  their  owti  language  with  understanding,'  and  con- 
tented themselves  with  such  wreckage  of  the  old  religion  as  the 
following: 

Creezum  zuum  patrum  onitentem  creatorum  ejus  amicum, 
Dominum  nostrum  qui.  sum  sops,  virgini  Marise,  crixus  fixus, 
Ponchi  Pilati  audubitiers,  morti  by  Sunday,  father  a  furnes, 
scerest  ut  judicarum,  finis  a  mortibus."  ^^ 

Doubtless  the  retention  and  repetition  of  meaningless  for- 
mulae in  the  public  worship  is  in  part  to  be  set  do\^^l  as  a  case 
of  superstition  and  to  be  classed  either  as  magic  or  at  best  a 
kind  of  irrational  offering  to  God, —  the  syllables  being  consid- 

25"Eiidand  Under  the  Stuarts"  (New  York,  Putnam:   1904),  p.  63. 


FUNCTIONS  OF  THE  CULT  285 

ered  somehow  powerful  in  themselves,   or  somehow  pleasing 
to  the  Deity.     But  in  nearly  all  such  repetition  there  is  also 
a  subjective  element,  a  recognition  that  the  creed  or  prayer  or 
formula  thus  recited,  even  though  not  understood,  brings  with 
it  a  certain  religious  atmosphere,  a  sense  of  reverence  or  de- 
pendence, or  a  renewed  and  strengthened  faith.     This  is  true 
both  of  the  ignorant  man  who  recites  the  creed  in  an  unknown 
tongue,  and  of  the  intelligent  man  who  knows  perfectly  well 
what  the  creed  means  but  cannot  assent  to  some  of  its  details. 
Of  course  the  ignorant  worshiper  must  know  something  about 
the  general  meaning  of  the  creed  which  he  hears  or  recites,  and 
the  intelligent  worshiper  must  be  able  to  accept  (and  with  some 
enthusiasm)   the  general  position  for  which  the  creed  stands, 
and  the  details  with  which  he  disagrees  must  not  rouse  in  him 
a  feeling  of  hostility.     But  no  more  exact  understanding  or 
acceptance   is   needed  for  the  creed  to  produce  very   consid- 
erable effects  in  reviving  faith  and  rousing  religious  feeling. 
The  reason  for  this  is  to  be  found  in  the  fact  that  it  is  the 
"  emotion  of  belief ''  rather  than  intellectual  assent  which  the 
recitation  of  the  creed  as   an  instrument   of  public  worship 
seeks  to  induce.     It  aims  to  put  the  worshiper  into  a  certain 
mental  attitude,  rather  than  to  dominate  that  very  small  por- 
tion of  his  mind  known  as  the  cold  intellect.     Viewed  in  this 
light  the  creed  is  not  so  much  a  scientific  statement  as  a  symbol. 
Symbolism  covers  a  wide  field.     All  forms  of  communication 
belong  here,   including  such  things  as  flags,  uniforms,  signs, 
gestures,   written   language,    spoken   language.     But    religious 
symbolism  is  not  of  the  ordinary  sort.     It  is  more  than  a  con- 
ventional means  of  communicating  ideas.     Before  an  object  or 
an  action  can  become  a  religious  symbol  it  must  have  become 
so  intimately  associated  with  the  religious  object  as  to  be  it- 
self permeated  in  the  mind  of  the  worshiper  with  the  sacred 
feeling,  the  faith,  the  volitional  attitude  which  is  his  religion. 
One  may  know  perfectly  well  how  to  translate  a  given  symbol 
into  words,  but  that  knowledge  alone  is  far  from  enough  to 
make  the  symbol  in  question  a  religious  one.     Your  learned 
Hindu  may  know  all  you  can  ever  tell  him  about  the  meaning 
of  the  cross;  but  it  is  no  more  a  religious  s^nnbol  to  him  than 
Shiva's  lingam  is  to  the  Christian  orientalist.     Before  an  ob- 


286  THE  EELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

ject  or  act  can  become  a  religious  symbol  to  a  man  it  must 
have  entered  into  the  emotional  texture  of  his  religious  life. 
As  a  fact,  therefore,  nearly  all  the  religious  symbolism  that 
ever  becomes  really  potent  in  an  individual's  experience  comes 
into  his  life  in  childhood.  It  is  seldom  after  those  formative 
years  that  the  close  association  between  object  and  emotion 
can  be  wrought  which  is  essential  to  religious  symbolism.  It 
requires  moreover,  as  a  rule,  the  whole  force  of  the  child's 
social  surroundings  —  the  suggestive  influence  of  parents, 
teachers,  older  playmates,  and  of  the  people  in  general  in  whose 
actions  he  is  interested  —  to  suffuse  the  material  object  or  the 
spoken  word  or  the  external  act  with  the  religious  feeling  that 
shall  make  it  truly  and  deeply  symbolic.  Hence  it  follows  that 
it  is  quite  impossible  for  the  social  group  to  make  for  itself 
a  new  religious  s\Tnbol  except  by  long  years  of  gradual  habitu- 
ation, or  through  the  force  of  some  emotional  crisis.  The  cross 
might  very  well  have  become  a  truly  religious  symbol  to  the 
first  generation  of  Christians,  because  of  the  terrible  yet  glori- 
ous event  on  Calvary.  To  an  Indian  villager  converted  by 
''  Mass  methods  "  it  may  be  an  excellent  new  kind  of  magic 
implement;  but  it  can  hardly  take  the  place  in  his  emotional 
and  religious  life  previously  held  by  the  lingam  of  Maha  Dev. 
And,  it  should  be  noted,  for  the  Christian  missionary  or  tourist 
or  student  to  understand  the  real  inner  and  emotional  meaning 
of  the  lingam  in  the  religious  life  of  the  devout  Hindu  is  just 
as  impossible  as  it  is  for  the  latter  to  understand  in  any  but  a 
coldly  intellectual  fashion  what  the  cross  means  to  us.^® 

To  the  Jews  the  cross  of  Christ  was  a  stumbling  block,  to 
the  Greeks  it  was  foolishness ;  but  to  the  man  born  and  brought 
up  in  a  Christian  home  it  is  often  ''  the  power  of  God  and  the 
wisdom  of  God."  Under  the  influence  which  centuries  of  past 
faith  and  devotion  can  bring  to  bear  upon  the  sensitive  soul  of 
the  growing  child,  a  religious  symbol  can  gain  a  power  over 
the  mind  which  can  quite  defy  the  forces  of  reason  and  of 
doubt.  It  brings  religion  home  to  ^'  that  great  multitude  of 
sinful  men  who  cannot  apprehend  spiritual  truths  except  as  em- 
bodied in  some  visible  form,"  ^"^  and  to  the  spiritual  and  intel- 

26  Cf.  "India  and  Its  Faiths,"  pp.  12-14. 

27  Tyrrell,  "External  Religion"   (London,  Longmans:    1906),  p.  35. 


FUNCTIONS  OF  THE  CULT  287 

ligent  believer  it  may  be  the  very  concentration  of  thoughts  and 
feelings  whose  depth  and  variety  would  tax  all  the  resources 
of  language  to  express.  "  The  Crucifix,"  says  George  Tyrrell, 
"  is  the  collective  sin  of  the  world  made  visible."  ^^ 

The  earliest  material  symbols  seem  to  have  originated  from 
objects  which  were  not  symbolic  but  were  regarded  as  sacred  in 
their  own  right  as  the  immediate  embodiment  of  the  mysterious 
or  divine;  and  in  like  manner  the  first  s^onbolic  acts  probably 
developed  out  of  ceremonial  activities  which  were  thought  to  be 
of  direct  efficacy  either  by  getting  control  of  mana  or  by  work- 
ing upon  the  will  of  the  deity.  As  the  god  retires  from  the 
image,  and  the  concept  of  him  becomes  more  abstract  and  more 
inclusive,  the  statue  which  has  ceased  to  be  his  peculiar  dwell- 
ing-place ceases  also  to  be  his  likeness,  and  becomes  merely  his 
symbol.  Even  this  form  of  representation  in  time  becomes,  for 
many  a  thoughtful  worshiper,  unacceptable,  and  God  is  con- 
ceived as  indescribable  and  in  no  wise  to  be  even  s^Tuboled  forth 
by  any  material  thing.^®  The  final  step  in  this  direction,  as 
we  saw  in  the  chapter  on  Belief  in  God,  consists  in  the  making 
of  the  abstract  concept  itself  only  a  symbol ; —  or  the  concept 
may  be  almost  given  up  and  only  the  feeling  retained.  ^'  It 
comes  about,"  writes  Wundt,  "  that  exactly  where  religious  rep- 
resentations are  vague  and  uncertain,  or  where  they  are  felt 
to  be  merely  inadequate  symbols  which  at  last  resign  all  at- 
tempt at  symbolism,  there  the  religious  feelings  can  be  of 
special  strength.  In  truth  we  come  here  upon  the  striking 
phenomenon  that  the  feeling  itself  becomes  a  symbol  —  i.  e.  it 
is  the  only  remaining  sign  in  consciousness  which  represents  a 
realm  of  religious  thought  [eine  religiose  Gedankenwelt]  stand- 
ing behind  it."  ^° 

This  is  an  extreme  situation,  however,  which  holds  only 
for  the  few.  For  the  great  mass  of  worshipers  symbolism  in 
the  form  of  objects  or  at  least  of  acts  and  of  vividly  represented 
images  is  very  helpful.  Material  objects,  to  be  sure,  tend  to 
become  less  frequently  used  as  symbols,  but  the  ritual  is  more 

28  Op.  cit.  p.  33. 

29  Cf.  Wundt,  "  Volkerpsychologie,"  Vol.  V    (called  Vol.   II,   Part  III), 
op.  740. 

30  Op.  cit.  Part  III,  pp.  740-41. 


288  THE  KELIGIOL^S  CONSCIOUSNESS 

firmly  founded.  For  the  ritual  itself  is  a  symbol.  The  admir- 
able and  oft-quotod  definition  of  a  sacrament  as  an  outward 
and  visible  sip^n  of  an  inward  and  spiritual  grace  applies  to  all 
deeply  rolii^ious  ritual.  As  Stanton  Coit  has  pointed  out,^^ 
the  ritual   is  an  outward  expression  of  the  inner  state  of  the 

7  worshij)er,  and  hence  is  as  truly  symbolic  as  lanji^uage.  We 
have  seen,  however,  that  the  religious  symbol  differs  from 
the  ordinary  sign  in  being  more  than  a  conventional  means  of 
communication;  it  must  possess  a  certain  depth  of  emotional 
meaning.  Mr.  Coit  has  pointed  out  another  though  closely  re- 
lated characteristic  of  the  ritual  as  a  truly  religious  symbol ; 
it  must  be  regarded  by  the  worshipers  as  a  token  of  a  real 
event  actually  taking  place  here  and  now,  within,  or  in  relation 
to,  the  persons  who  perform  it.  "  Always  his  own  will  and  his 
own  heart  are  committed  by  the  person  making  a  ritualistic 
sign  and  are  received  and  accepted  by  those  to  whom  it  is 
made.  Participation  in  an  act  of  ritual  is  a  personal  commit- 
ment or  pledge,  and  therefore  is  an  act  in  the  moral  and  social 
history  of  the  participants.  The  woman  who  assumes  the  role 
of  bride  in  the  marriage  ceremony  is  actually  thereby  becoming 
the  wife  of  the  man  who  stands  by  her  side.  She  is  not  simply 
symbolically  illustrating  in  fantastic  manner  some  general  prin- 
ciple of  monogamy.  .  .  .  The  marriage  ceremony  is  infinitely 
removed  in  its  nature  from  a  show  or  a  symbolical  representa- 
tion of  some  real  event  which  took  place  elsewhere.  .  .  .  The 
little  child  baptised  may  never  afterwards  wholly  escape  from 
the  real  moral  and  social  effects  of  the  fact  that  his  parents 
and  the  priest  committed  him  to  the  Roman  Catholic  or  to  the 
Anglican  communion.''  ^^  In  like  manner,  the  Catholic  mass 
and  the  Protestant  celebration  of  the  Lord's  Supper,  the  repeti- 
tion of  the  creed  and  the  recitation  of  the  prayer  would  be  un- 
thinkable hypocrisies  if  performed  by  people  who  did  not  be- 
lieve that  in  these  acts  something  very  real  was  actually  hap- 
pening within  or  in  relation  to  their  own  souls.  "  A  great 
event,"  says  Coit,  "  is  always  taking  place  in  the  life  of  the 

*^  persons  who  are  participating  in  any  religious  ritual.  .  .  . 
There  is  no  such  thing  as  a  '  mere  ceremony '  of  ritual :  for 

31  Op.  cit.  pp.  320-21. 

32  Id.  pp.  329-30. 


FU:^CTIONS  OF  THE  CULT  289 

the  moment  it  ceases  to  be  an  indispensable  sign  in  the  eyes 
of  the  community,  it  is  not  the  sign  at  all."  ^^ 

The  most  sophisticated  of  all  the  functions  of  cult  or  public 
worship  is  direct  and  explicit  instruction.  That  this  ever  forms 
a  part  of  the  cult  is  sometimes  denied  f^  but  such  a  denial  both 
involves  a  narrow  definition  of  the  cult  which  would  rule  out 
from  it  a  large  part  of  modern  public  worship,  and  also  dog- 
matically shuts  its  eyes  to  certain  features  of  ancient  and  primi- 
tive ritual.  The  initiation  ceremonies  of  many  primitive  peo- 
ples, which  are  as  truly  religious  in  their  nature  as  are  the 
Christian  sacraments  of  confirmation  and  baptism,  include  both 
indirect  and  direct  attempts  at  instruction ;  and  the  same  more 
or  less  explicit  effort  to  impart  information  on  religious  mat- 
ters is  to  be  seen  in  the  Mysteries  of  the  Greeks  and  in  some 
of  the  ceremonies  of  religious  pilgrimages  in  various  religions. 
It  is  true,  however,  that  only  in  the  more  highly  developed  and 
sophisticated  religions  does  direct  instruction  become  a  rela- 
tively important  factor  in  public  worship.  It  is  seen  in  most^ 
explicit  fashion,  of  course,  in  public  scriptural  reading  and 
comment  and  in  the  sermon,  as  found  to  some  extent  in  South- 
ern Buddhism,  and  with  greater  emphasis  in  Mohammedanism 
and  Christianity.  It  is  here,  of  course,  that  the  subjective  aim 
of  worship  becomes  most  explicit ;  for  hardly  the  most  zealous 
advocate  of  the  importance  of  the  sermon  will  claim  that  it 
is  preached  for  the  benefit  of  the  Almighty.  The  religious  com- 
munity which  insists  upon  the  sermon  as  a  part  of  its  "  ser- 
vice "  knows  perfectly  well  that  the  only  reason  for  it  is  to 
be  found  in  its  effects  upon  the  hearers. 

I  make  no  claim  to  having  exhausted  in  this  chapter  the 
methods  used  by  the  cult  for  the  fulfillment  of  its  religious  func- 
tions. The  ground,  however,  has  been  covered  in  sufficient  de- 
tail to  show  the  general  nature  of  those  methods.  Further  light 
will  be  thrown  on  the  whole  question  by  the  more  concrete  con- 
siderations of  the  following  chapter. 

33  Id.  pp.  330-331. 

84  E.  g.  by  Sumner,  "  Folk  Ways,"  p   61. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

OBJECTIVE    AND    SUBJECTIVE    WORSHIP 

In  the  two  preceding  chapters  I  have  had  occasion  more 
than  once  to  distinguish  between  two  types  of  worship,  one 
of  which  aims  at  making  some  kind  of  effect  upon  the  Deity  or 
in  some  way  communicating  with  him,  while  the  other  seeks 
onlv  to  induce  some  desired  mood  or  belief  or  attitude  in  the 
mind  of  the  worshiper.  The  former  of  these  types  I  shall  refer 
to,  for  the  sake  of  brevity,  as  objective  worship,  and  the  latter 
I  shall  call  subjective  worship.  The  distinction  between  the 
two  seems  to  me  so  important  that  I  doubt  whether  a  thorough 
understanding  of  the  various  cults  found  in  the  different  re- 
ligions be  possible  unless  this  distinction  be  quite  explicitly 
recognized.  It  is  the  key  to  many  a  ceremonial  which  without 
it  must  remain  for  most  of  us  obscure,  strange,  and  even 
ridiculous  or  shocking.  This  is  true  within  the  bounds  of  our 
own  Christian  religion.  Consider,  for  example,  the  impres- 
sions of  the  Protestant  on  first  being  present  at  a  Catholic 
Mass,  or  the  feelings  of  the  Catholic  on  first  attending  a  Pro- 
testant service.  To  the  Protestant  the  mass  seems  fantastic; 
to  the  Catholic  the  evangelical  worship  appears  godless.  Each 
can  understand  the  other  only  by  appreciating  the  difference 
in  aim :  the  leading  purpose  of  the  mass  is  the  worship  of  God, 
that  of  the  Protestant  service  is  the  subjective  impression  upon 
the  minds  and  hearts  of  the  worshipers. 

Perhaps  the  most  notable  instance  of  objective  worship  is  the 
Chinese  official  cult  of  Heaven,  which  can  be  performed  only 
by  the  Emperor  (or  President),  who  does  it  on  behalf  of  all  the 
people.  The  same  purely  objective  purpose  stands  out  with 
equal  directness  in  the  Hindu  temple  ceremonials,  especially  in 
the  regular  daily  ''  puja  "  of  the  officiating  priest.  Quite  fre- 
quently there  is  no  audience  at  this  ceremony, —  no  one  is  pres- 
ent but  the  priest  who  annoints  the  lingam,  or  strews  flowers  be- 

290 


OBJECTIVE  A:NrD  SUBJECTIVE  WOKSHIP      291 

fore  the  image,  muttering  certain  sacred  words  of  whose  meaning 
he  often  has  no  notion  and  going  through  the  ritual  with  the  ob- 
vious single  purpose  of  gratifying  the  god.^  Even  when  an 
audience  is  present  the  chief  aim  of  the  ceremony  is  plainly 
the  adulation  of  the  deity.  The  worshipers  come  because  their 
god  wishes  their  adoration  and  they  can,  perhaps,  move  him  to 
grant  their  requests  by  prostrating  themselves  before  the  throne 
where,  in  his  sacred  image,  he  is  seated.  Eor  the  Hindu  tem- 
ple is  in  no  sense  a  "  meeting  house.''  It  is  not  built  for  the 
benefit  of  the  human  worshipers,  but  for  the  greater  glory  of 
God.  The  thought  of  going  to  the  temple  for  the  sake  of  the 
subjective  effect  which  the  jmja  might  have  upon  one's  own 
feelings  is  an  idea  that  probably  never  enters  into  one  Hindu 
head  in  a  thousand.  Occasionally,  indeed,  as  I  pointed  out 
in  the  last  chapter,  there  is  a  self-conscious  attempt  to  gain  this 
end,  but  it  is  relatively  rare ;  and  unquestionably  the  subjective 
effect  is  in  innumerable  cases  attained  even  when  the  thought 
of  it  is  quite  absent  from  the  mind.  One  need  only  watch  the 
faces  of  the  long  line  of  heavy-laden  humanity  —  especially  of 
the  widows  —  pouring  quietly  but  steadily  out  of  some  temple 
of  Shiva  on  the  banks  of  the  Ganges,  to  feel  convinced  that 
these  dumb  worshipers  are  taking  home  with  them  something 
of  the  same  religious  comfort  and  uplift  which  their  sisters  are't 
finding  in  some  little  white  meeting-house  in  far  Xew  England. 
But  the  subjective  benefits  of  cult  and  ritual  which  though 
often  present  in  the  less  sophisticated  forms  of  Hinduism  re- 
main almost  unrecognized,  come  out  quite  explicitly  in  some  of 
the  verv  self-conscious  Hindu  reform  movements.     An  excellent 

ft/ 

example  of  this  is  to  be  found  in  the  Havan  ceremony  of  the 
Arya  Samaj.  The  Aryas  are  an  exceedingly  rationalistic  group 
of  religious  thinkers  who  are  bent  on  the  moral  and  intellectual 
reform  of  Hinduism,  and  who  never  lose  an  opportunity  to  at- 
tack and  ridicule  idolatry  and  the  }X)pular  temple  worship,  as 
well  as  polytheism  in  all  its  forms.     But  from  the  very  be- 

1  For  the  details  of  Hindu  temple  worship  see  Monier  Williams,  "  Brah- 
manism  and  Hinduism"  (4th  Ed.  New  York,  Macmillan:  1801 ),  pp.  93-94, 
144-45,  438-41;  Farquhar's  "Crown  of  Hinduism,"  pp.  313-14;  Bhan- 
darkar,  "  Vaishnavism,  Saivism,  and  Minor  Religious  Systems"  (Strass- 
burg,  TrUbner:  1913),  p.  81;  and  my  "India  and  Its  Faiths,"  Chap.  II. 


292  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

ginning  of  tlieir  reform  niovcniPiit  tlicy  roeognized  so  clearly 
the  human  need  of  a  ritual,  for  tlie  sake  of  its  effects  upon  the 
worshipers,  that  the  founder  of  the  church,  Swami  Dayanand, 
in  part  invented,  in  part  adopted  from  the  Vedas,  a  ceremony 
remarkably  well  adapted  in  more  ways  than  one  to  bring  about 
the  state  of  mind  which  the  Samaj  desires  in  its  members. 
The  audience  gathers  around  a  small  pit,  prepared  for  the  oc- 
casion, and  there  the  leaders  make  a  sweet-smelling  fire,  pour- 
ing into  it  from  time  to  time  ladles  of  glii  or  liquefied  butter,  to 
the  accompaniment  of  a  steady  chanting  of  Sanskrit  verses. 
This,  Dayanand  assured  his  followers,  was  an  ancient  Vedic 
rite,  handed  down  for  ages  in  the  holy  days  when  only  the  one 
God  was  worshiped,  and  practiced  by  the  Rishis  who  wrote  the 
Rig  Veda.  Here,  then,  we  have  visible  and  tangible  elements 
brought  into  direct  association  with  the  religious  belief;  and  a 
sacramental  offering  of  them  by  the  community  and  its  repre- 
sentatives in  such  fashion  as  to  s^Tubolize  the  faith  of  all,  and 
thus  to  bring  social  confirmation  to  the  individual's  religion, 
and  to  bind  the  whole  of  the  group  to  the  great  and  revered 
Past  whose  authority  thus  becomes  a  perennial  spring  of  fervent 
religious  sentiment.  There  is  no  thought  whatever  of  the  cere- 
mony being  a  sacrifice  to  God  or  a  way  of  pleasing  Him.  If 
you  ask  the  Aryas  why  it  is  performed  they  will  tell  you  it  is 
for  the  sake  of  emphasizing  their  connection  with  Vedic  times, 
and  as  a  svmbol  of  their  devotion  to  all  the  world.^  It  forms 
the  central  part  of  their  daily  and  weekly  religious  meetings, 
and  the  earnest  religious  feeling  w^hicb  it  arouses  among  them  is 
patent  to  every  visitor.^ 

But  the  extreme  examples  of  subjective  worship  are  to  be 
found  in  two  other  of  the  religions  of  India,  namely  Jainism 
and  Buddhism.  In  their  popular  forms,  both  of  these  cults  are 
fairly  objective;  but  always  in  theory  (at  least  in  their  original 
theories),  and  among  their  more  intellectual  followers  in  prac- 

2  I  should  add  that  the  chief  function  performed  by  this  ceremony  in  the 
opinion  of  the  Arya  Somajists  is  the  purification  of  the  air.  This  notion 
originated  with  Swami  Dayanand,  who  expounds  it  at  length  in  the  pas- 
sage of  his  authoritative  book,  the  "  Satyarth  Prakash,"  in  which  he  lays 
down  the  rules  for  the  Havan  ceremony.  See  Durga  Prasad's  translation 
of  the  "Satyarth  Prakash"  (Lahore,  Virjanand  Press:   1908),  pp.  101-103. 

3  For  further  description  see  my  "  India  and  Its  Faiths,"  pp.  208-210. 


OBJECTIVE  AND   SUBJECTIVE  WORSHIP      293 

tice,  they  carry  subjectivity  to  an  extreme  from  which  the  pro- 
fessors of  every  other  religion,  eastern  or  western,  would  prob- 
ably shrink.  Eor  the  Jaina  there  is  no  God;  instead,  there  is 
a  mechanically  moral  but  unconscious  universe,  and  there  are 
also  twenty-four  Tirthankaras  or  ideal  beings  who  once  lived 
and  have  long  since  passed  into  Moksha.  These  are  conceived 
as  still  conscious,  but  they  are  quite  unconscious  of  human 
affairs  and  can  never  be  reached  or  in  any  way  affected  by  hu- 
man prayers  or  offerings.  One  might  conclude  from  this 
that  worship  of  them  would  be  out  of  the  question,  at  any  rate 
for  the  more  intelligent.  This  is  by  no  means  the  case.  At 
the  ceremonies  in  Jaina  temples  you  will  find,  at  least  occa- 
sionally, very  intelligent  and  educated  men,  who  are  firmly 
convinced  that  nothing  they  do  or  say  or  think  will  reach 
the  Tirthankaras,  and  yet  who  are  as  enthusiastic  in  making 
offerings  and  intoning  Sanskrit  verses  before  a  Tirthankara 
image  as  are  any  of  their  less  enlightened  brethren.  I  have 
talked  with  more  than  one  of  these  men  concerning  their  wor- 
ship and  they  have  insisted  that  they  keep  up  the  cult  in  this 
strict  and  scrupulous  fashion  because  they  find  that  its  sub- 
jective effects  upon  them  are  decidedly  beneficial  —  and  this, 
in  fact,  is  the  orthodox  Jaina  theory  upon  the  subject.  Eight 
kinds  of  offerings  are  made  to  the  images,  and  each  of  these 
has  a  s}Tnbolic  meaning.  Thus  white  rice  represents  knowledge, 
saffron  rice  beauty,  etc. ;  and  the  presentation  of  these  s^rmbols, 
together  with  the  Sanskrit  verses  chanted  and  the  thought  of  the 
moral  ideal  for  which  the  Tirthankara  stands,  all  tend  to  bring 
new  comfort  and  hope,  new  aspirations,  and  greater  strength  for 
the  moral  life.* 

Buddhist  theory,  and  to  some  extent  Buddhist  practice,  car- 
ries this  subjective  worship  if  possible  one  step  further.  For 
in  the  religion  as  formulated  by  the  Founder,  and  as  still  be- 
lieved and  practiced  by  a  number  of  intelligent  monks  in  Burma 
and  Ceylon  and  also  by  some  of  the  laity,  there  is  not  even 

*  See  the  chapter  on  the  Jainas  in  my  "  India  and  Its  Faiths,"  in  which 
I  have  dealt  in  greater  detail  with  this  subject.  For  further  descriptions 
of  Jaina  worship  see  Mrs.  Sinclair  Stevenson's  "  Notes  on  Modern  Jainism  " 
(Oxford,  Blackwell:  1910),  pp.  85-105,  and  her  larger  work,  "^he  Heart 
of  Jainism"    (Oxford  U.  Press,  1915)    Chap.  XIII. 


294  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

80  much  to  pray  to  as  a  conscious  l)ut  nurciu'liablo  Tirtliaukara. 
Buddhism,  like  .lainism,  has  two  substitutes  for  God;  one  of 
them  tliis  miraculously  moral  hut  (piite  uueonscious  Cosmos 
with  its  inescapahle  Law  of  Karma;  the  other  the  ideal  hein^, 
Gautama,  the  Buddha.  Ijut  the  Jjuddha  has  long  since  sunk 
into  Nirvana,  which  in  the  opinion  of  the  majority  of  the  more 
learned  and  intelligent  monks  seems  to  be  equivalent  to  noth- 
ingness. Not  only  is  he  beyond  all  our  prayers  and  offerings; 
he  is  not  even  conscious.  In  the  words  of  manv  of  the  monks 
with  whom  I  talked  in  Burma  and  Ceylon,  ''Buddha  finish!  " 
Yet  these  good  atheists  have  by  no  means  given  up  the  cult. 
Morning  and  night,  if  they  be  monks,  do  they  assemble  in  the 
hall  of  their  monastery  around  the  image  of  the  Founder  of 
their  Faith,  and  offer  fresh  flowers  and  ancient  praises  in  his 
honor.  And  most  of  them  sometime  during  the  day  will  go, 
together  with  little  groups  of  faithful  lay  brothers,  to  some 
near-by  pagoda,  and  there  place  a  candle  within  the  great 
shrine,  and  recite  more  verses  and  more  praises.  "  Thus  re- 
flecting," says  the  Dina  Chariyawa,  in  recital  of  the  duties  of 
the  novice,  *'  he  shall  approach  the  dagoba,  or  the  bo-tree,  and 
perform  that  which  is  appointed :  he  shall  offer  flowers,  just  as 
if  the  Buddha  were  present  in  person,  if  flowers  can  be  pro- 
cured ;  meditate  on  the  nine  virtues  of  the  Buddha  with  fixed 
and  determined  mind ;  and  having  worshiped  seek  absolution 
for  his  negligences  and  faults  just  as  if  the  sacred  things  [be- 
fore which  he  worships]  had  life."  ^  In  short  the  enlightened 
Buddhist  is  to  act  ""  just  as  if  "  he  believed  various  things  which 
he  does  not  believe,  because  the  performance  of  these  acts 
has  been  found  to  be  helpful  in  the  production  of  a  desirable 
inner  state  of  mind.  A  Burmese  Buddhist  book  says  plainly, 
"  It  is  bootless  to  worship  the  Buddha ;  nothing  is  necessary  but 
to  revere  him  and  the  memory  of  him.  Statues  are  useful  only 
in  80  far  as  they  refresh  the  memory;  for  as  the  farmer  sow^s 
the  seed  and  gathers  in  the  grain  in  due  season,  so  will  the 
man  who  trusts  in  the  Buddha  and  holds  fast  by  his  sacred 

5  Quoted    in    Hardy's    "  Eastern  ■  Monachism  "     (London,    Partridge    and 
Oxford:    18G0),  p.  25. 


OBJECTIVE  AND  SUBJECTIVE  WOKSHIP      295 

Law,  obtain  deliverance  and  pass  into  IN'ehban.     The  earth  and 
the  Buddha  are  alike  in  themselves  inert."  ^  ^ 

When  we  turn  from  India  to  Christendom  we  find  again 
both  objective  and  subjective  worship  —  sometimes  standing 
out  from  each  other  quite  obviously,  sometimes  inextricably  in- 
termingled. Although  both  forms  have  been  found  many  times 
over  in  both  the  great  western  branches  of  the  Christian  Church, 
objective  worship  comes  out  the  more  distinctly  in  Roman 
Catholicism,  and  subjective  worship  in  Protestantism.  The 
Catholic  Church  seems  to  consider  the  direct  worship  of  God  as 
much  a  part  of  its  duty  as  the  salvation  of  souls.  In  certain  or- 
ders of  nuns  systematic  efforts  are  directed  toward  making  sure 
that  the  Blessed  Sacrament  is  being  constantly  adored  by  pious 
sisters,"^  prostrate  before  it  at  every  moment  of  the  day  and 
night.  By  a  widespread  custom  in  various  parts  of  the  Catholic 
world,  laymen  join  with  the  "  religious"  once  a  year  in  conse- 
crating ''  Forty  Hours  "  to  the  adoration  of  the  Sacrament.* 
A  very  considerable  part  of  the  day  of  every  priest  is  occupied 
in  saying  the  "  Office."  ^  This  rather  heavy  requirement  is 
but  distantly  if  at  all  connected  with  the  purpose  of  saving  souls 
or  of  producing  a  subjective  effect  upon  anyone.  It  aims 
primarily  and  chiefly  ad  majoram  Dei  gloriam.  The  concep- 
tion is  that  God  is  pleased  with  this  chorus  of  prayers  and 
praises  rising  to  Him  in  unison  from  all  quarters  of  the  globe. 
The  same  objective  character  of  much  of  Catholic  worship  is 
to  be  seen  in  the  very  buildings  themselves  which  w^e  know  as 
Catholic  churches.     As  Henry  Adams  puts  it,  the  nave  was 

6  Quoted  by  Shway  Yoe  (J.  G.  Scott)  in  "The  Burman"  (London, 
Macmillan:   1882),  Vol.  I,  p.  221. 

7  Four  Orders  have  been  founded  and  continued  for  this  special  pur- 
pose:—  the  "Religious  of  Perpetual  Adoration"  of  Belgium,  an  order  of 
the  same  name  in  Einsiedeln  (Switzerland),  the  "Sisters  of  the  Perpetual 
Adoration"  (of  Quimper,  France),  and  the  "Perpetual  Adorers  of  the 
Blessed  Sacrament," —  see  Catholic  Encyclopedia. 

8 "  Questa  divozione  consiste  nell'esporre  il  Santissimo  Sacramento 
alia  (lorazione  dei  fedeli  per  tre  giorni  di  seguito  e  per  tredici  o  quattordici 
ore  del  giorno"  ("Tutto  con  Me," — Milano,  Tipografia  Santa  Lega  Eu- 
caristica:   1008  — p.  847). 

9  The  Office  varies  on  different  days,  but  in  general  it  may  be  said 
to  consist  of  about  one-seventh  of  the  Psalter  —  the  entire  Psalter  being 
thus  recited  once  each  week  —  plus  certain  liturgical  formulas  and  re- 
sponses, with  special  additional  material  for  saints'  days. 


296  THE  KELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

made  for  the  people  but  the  choir  for  God/*^  Especially  no- 
ticeable is  the  arrangement  for  objective  worship  in  the  cathe- 
drals of  Spain,  where  the  central  portion  of  the  nave  is  blocked 
up  witli  the  coro  or  choir,  whose  walls,  rising  on  three  sides, 
make  it  almost  a  separate  building  in  the  midst  of  the  cathedral. 
Thus  the  view  of  the  high  altar  is  quite  cut  off  from  all  parts 
of  the  church  except  the  coro,  the  small  space  between  it  and  the 
altar,  and  a  minute  section  of  each  transept.  The  result  is 
that  only  a  few  worshipers  in  the  whole  cathedral  can  see  the 
altar, —  a  commentary  in  stone  upon  the  purpose  of  the  ca- 
thedral and  of  the  services  performed  within  it.  The  important 
thing  is  not  that  the  worshipers  should  be  able  to  behold  and 
follow  the  service  or  be  impressed  by  it,  but  that  God  should  he 
properly  and  gJorioushj  worshiped. 

But  it  is  not  only  in  great  cathedrals  that  the  objective  na- 
ture of  Catholic  worship  is  felt.  The  Catholic  church  in  every 
part  of  the  world,  and  no  matter  how  humble  in  architectural 
design,  means  to  be  (as  the  Hindu  temple  means  to  be)  not  a 
meeting  house  for  worshipers  but  a  place  where  in  a  peculiar 
sense  God  dwells.  The  heart  of  Catholicism  for  its  most  spir- 
itual children  is  its  belief  in  the  peculiar  presence  of  God  within 
the  Sacrament ;  and  it  is  this  that  makes  the  Catholic  church 
mean  so  much  more  to  the  good  Catholic  than  the  Protestant 
meeting  house  can  ever  mean  to  anyone.  To  some  minds  the 
contrast  is  enormous.  George  Tyrrell  tells  us  that  at  an  early 
age  he  felt  that  "  the  difference  between  an  altar  and  a  com- 
munion table  is  infinite."  ^^  When  a  Catholic  goes  into  a  Pro- 
testant church  he  has  an  immediate  sense  that  something  is 
lacking.  Involuntarily  he  looks  for  the  altar  with  its  hidden 
but  ever  present  Host,  and,  not  finding  it,  he  realizes  that  the 
building  is  merely  a  place  for  people  to  meet  together  and 
think  about  God  —  not  a  temple  in  which  one  meets  with  God 

10  "  The  choir  was  made  not  for  the  pilprim  but  for  the  deity,  and  is  as 
old  as  Adam  or  perhaps  older.  .  .  .  The  Christian  church  not  only  took  the 
sanctuary  in  hand  and  gave  it  a  new  form,  but  it  also  added  the  idea  of 
the  nave  and  transepts,  and  developed  it  into  imperial  splendor.  The 
pilgrim-tourist  feels  at  home  in  the  nave  because  it  was  built  for  him;  the 
artist  loves  the  sanctuary  because  he  built  it  for  God  "  ( "  Mont  St.  Michel 
and  Chartres,"  Washington:  1912,  p.  161). 

11  Autobiography,"  Vol.  I,  p.  98. 


OBJECTIVE  AJSTD  SUBJECTIVE  WORSHIP      297 

Himself  in  a  peculiarly  close  and  objective  way.  To  be  sure 
God  is  believed  to  be  present  in  the  Protestant  church,  but  no- 
where in  particular  and  no  more  in  the  church  than  elsewhere. 
God  is  present  everywhere  in  general,  and  nowhere  in  particu- 
lar. In  the  Catholic  belief,  too,  He  is  present  everywhere  in 
general,  but  He  is  also  present  in  one  place  in  particular.  He 
is  there  in  the  wafer,  mysteriously  transformed  in  "  substance  '' 
into  His  very  body,  upon  the  altar.  Hence  the  glorious  robes 
of  the  priest  to  do  honor  to  the  heavenly  guest;  hence  the 
acolites,  the  incense,  the  music,  the  candles.  The  objective 
nature  of  Catholic  worship  is  plain  in  all  these  things ;  and  es- 
pecially when  contrasted  with  the  corresponding  adornments 
of  the  Protestant  service,  notably  its  flowers.  The  Protestant 
church  decks  its  buildings  with  flowers  solely  and  admittedly  for 
the  congregation  to  see.  They  make  the  church  pleasanter, 
possibly  attract  a  few  more  people  by  their  touch  of  color  and 
beauty,  and  perhaps  help  to  put  some  in  a  more  spiritual  frame 
of  mind.  The  candles  of  the  Catholic  church  are  placed  there 
not  for  man  but  for  God.  This  is  true  of  them  whether  pub- 
licly and  ofiicially  or  privately  contributed.  The  woman  who 
places  her  candle  before  the  shrine  of  the  Madonna  has  no 
thought  in  her  mind  of  the  effect  it  may  have  on  other  wor- 
shipers. The  Madonna  will  see  it  and  that  is  enough.  It  would 
be  placed  there  just  the  same  were  no  one  expected  to  enter  the 
church. 

The  same  contrast  between  the  objective  and  the  subjective 
is  seen  again  if  we  compare  the  acts  and  bearing  of  the  minister 
with  those  of  the  priest  in  conducting  the  service.  The  minis- 
ter as  well  as  the  priest  may  mean  that  God  shall  hear  the  words 
of  the  service,  but  he  certainly  also  means  that  the  congregation 
shall  hear, —  both  in  order  that  they  may  pray  with  him  and 
also  in  order  to  produce  upon  them,  by  his  prayers  and  their 
prayers,  the  desired  psychological  effect.  He  not  only  prays; 
he  "  leads  in  prayer."  His  prayer  he  utters  in  a  loud  voice, 
that  all  may  hear,  as  he  stands  facing  the  audience.  And  too 
often  his  prayer  is  of  the  sort  intended  in  the  oft-quoted  descrip- 
tion : —  "  the  most  eloquent  prayer  ever  addressed  to  a  Boston 
audience." 

Instead  of  this,  the  priest  turns  his  back  on  the  congregation, 


298  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

faces  the  altar  where  God  is,  and  whispers  his  prayer  in  a  voice 
too  low  to  be  heard  hv  anyone  and  in  a  tongue  unknown  to  all 
but  his  fellow  {)riests.  During  most  of  the  service  he  seems 
utterly  oblivious  to  the  i)resence  of  other  worshipers.  The  Pro- 
testant clergyman  on  a  rainy  Sunday,  when  the  church  is  cold 
and  only  twenty  or  thirty  are  present,  may  dismiss  his  hearers 
and  give  up  the  service.  To  the  Catholic  priest,  the  size  of 
the  congregation  and  the  tcnijicrature  of  the  building  make  no 
apparent  difference.  lie  comes  into  the  church  from  the  sa- 
cristy carrying  the  chalice  and  followed  by  his  attendant,  look- 
ing neither  to  the  right  hand  nor  to  the  left  for  his  audience, 
with  his  eyes  fixed  only  upon  the  altar  where  the  body  and  blood 
of  Christ  are  shortly  to  be  seen ;  and  he  says  his  mass  in  ex- 
actly the  same  way  whether  the  Church  be  thronged  or  he  and 
the  boy  be  the  only  human  beings  in  the  building. 

For  the  mass  is  viewed  by  the  Church  not  as  a  means  for 

ft/ 

producing  an  effect  but  as  something  objectively  worth  while  in 
itself  —  the  mysterious  sacrifice  on  the  cross  of  God  to  God, 
miraculously  repeated  upon  the  altar.  In  the  words  of  Fred- 
eric Harrison,  '^  the  Mass  is  a  reality  —  if  one  admit  its  scien- 
tific extravagance  —  and  for  religious  and  moral  efficacy  the 
most  potent  institution  that  any  religion  in  man's  history  can 
boast  —  '  the  most  admirable  of  the  Catholic  institutions  '  —  at 
once  a  tremendous  drama,  a  searching  discipline,  an  entire  creed 
transfigured  in  a  visible  presentment  of  a  spiritual  doctrine."  ^^ 
The  mass  is  the  very  center  of  Catholic  worship  and  the  heart 
of  Catholic  belief ;  and  leading  up  as  it  does  to  the  miracle 
upon  the  altar  and  the  tremendously  dramatic  climax  of  the 
elevation  of  the  Host,  it  has  no  rival  in  the  whole  round  of 
religious  ceremonial  for  impressiveness  and  for  the  production 
of  deep  but  controlled  religious  emotion.  To  the  unsympathetic 
and  ignorant  beholder  it  seems  bizarre,  but  whoever  enters  sym- 
pathetically, intelligently,  and  imaginatively  into  the  feelings 
of  the  worshipers  kneeling  around  him,  and  for  the  moment 
takes  their  '^  objective  "  point  of  view  of  the  peculiar  and  mir- 
aculous presence  of  the  Divine,  can  hardly  fail  to  find  in  it  a 
new  and  unique  and  deeply  religious  experience.     It  was  this 

12  "The  Positive  Evolution  of  Religion"    (New  York,  Putnams:    1913), 
p.  129. 


OBJECTIVE  AND  SUBJECTIVE  WORSHIP      299 

almost  unreplaceable  stimulus  to  the  religious  sentiment  that 
was  left  behind  when  our  Protestant  fathers  went  out  from  the 
old  historic  Church.  And  when  this  is  understood  one  sees 
how  hopeless  it  must  ever  be  to  fill  the  place  of  this  lost  sense 
of  the  peculiar  immediacy  of  the  Supernatural  and  Divine  by 
any  use  of  candles  or  incense,  intoned  service  and  ringing  of 
bells,  or  the  voices  of  violins,  cellos,  and  opera  singers. 

In  other  words,  the  subjective  effect  of  the  objective  meth- 
ods used  by  the  Catholic  Church  is  very  considerable,  even 
though  aimed  at  only  indirectly, —  in  fact  largely  because  it  is 
aimed  at  only  indirectly.  To  the  reverent  Catholic  it  makes 
little  or  no  difference  that  he  cannot  hear  the  priest's  words, 
and  that  if  he  could  hear  them  they  might  be  to  him  unintelli- 
gible. He  may  if  he  likes  follow  the  service  by  means  of  the 
translation  in  his  prayer  book ;  but  this  he  does  not  need  and  sel- 
dom tries  to  do.  It  is  of  no  importance  that  he  should.  For 
he  finds  —  and  this  sums  up  the  subjective  value  of  the  mass  — 
that  a  church  in  which  mass  is  being  said  is  an  excellent  place 
to  pray,  that  the  service  gives  him  an  intense  realization  of 
the  closeness  of  God  to  human  life,  and  that  he  goes  away  from 
it  with  a  sense  of  spiritual  refreshment. 

So  excellent  in  producing  subjective  effects  are  the  objective 
methods  of  the  Catholic  Church  that  a  benevolent  atheist  might 
conceivably  do  his  best  to  forward  the  interests  of  Catholicism. 
If  he  were  a  wise  as  well  as  a  benevolent  atheist,  however,  he 
would  probably  keep  his  views  of  the  truly  subjective  nature  of 
worship  entirely  to  himself.  Por  once  let  the  cat  out  of  the 
bag,  the  desired  result  might  become  almost  unattainable.  And 
here  we  find  both  the  strength  and  the  weakness  of  purely  ob- 
jective methods.  Given  a  body  of  worshipers  who  accept  im- 
plicitly the  belief  back  of  the  cult,  and  the  effect  of  it  upon 
their  religious  sentiments  will  be  stronger  than  that  which 
any  direct  attempt  at  influencing  them  could  ever  bring  about. 
But  the  number  of  those  for  whom  this  is  possible  is  likely  to 
diminish  steadily  with  the  loss  of  respect  for  authority  and  the 
spread  of  modern  education,  free  thought,  and  rationalism. 
The  Catholic  Church  has  always  shown  remarkable  insight  into 
the  psychology  of  the  mystic  and  of  the  uneducated.  Its  whole 
history  shows  also  an  almost  equally  remarkable  failure  to  un- 


300  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

derstand  the  minds  of  the  rationalistic  and  the  lovers  of  free 
thought.  For  Protestants  the  mass  fails  of  its  subjective  re- 
ligious effect  because  they  cannot  share  the  Catholic  belief  in 
transubstantiation,  and  hence  the  direct  Catholic  kind  of  ob- 
jective worship  is  for  them  impossible.  And  something  like 
this  loss  of  subjective  impressiveness  in  the  mass  holds  true  for 
an  increasing  number  of  the  more  intelligent  Catholics  them- 
selves. In  Italy  and  France,  for  example,  there  are  a  great 
many  good  men  —  nominally  Catholics  —  to  whom  the  mass  is 
simply  foolishness.  To  them,  the  Latin  mumbling  of  the  priest 
is  a  useless  repetition,  and  the  incense  and  candles  are  a  kind  of 
earnest  nonsense.  Not  believing  strongly  or  at  all  in  the 
real  presence,  and  not  being  of  the  emotional  or  mystical  type, 
they  fail  to  get  anything  out  of  the  service  —  and  hence  stay 

^  away.  For  men  of  this  sort,  the  reading  of  fairly  long  and  con- 
secutive and  well-chosen  passages  of  Scripture,  followed  by  an 
intelligent  sermon  on  some  moral  problem,  with  the  singing  of 

I  a  few  good  h^^nns,  might  be  the  ideal  form  of  public  worship. 
But  this  is,  of  course,  very  nearly  the  Protestant  and  "  evangeli- 
cal "  form. 

While,  therefore,  the  Protestant  worship  can  probably  never 
minister  to  the  religious  feelings  of  people  of  the  mystical  and 
traditional  type  as  can  the  more  objective  worship  of  the  Catho- 
lic Church,  to  persons  of  the  intellectual  and  moral  type  it  prob- 
ably furnishes  the  best  solution.  I  speak  of  it  as  a  solution,  for 
the  worship  which  is  to  appeal  to  these  two  types  of  mind 
is  indeed  a  problem.  On  the  one  hand  it  must  not  demand  of 
them  a  faith  which  is  for  them  no  longer  possible,  hence  must 
include  much  frank  and  self-conscious  effort  to  influence  their 
faith  and  feeling  directly ;  and  on  the  other  hand  it  cannot  afford 
to  leave  out  entirely  the  objective  aspect  of  worship,  for  to  do  so 
would  be  implicitly  to  surrender  certain  essential  parts  of  the 
faith  upon  which  much  of  the  subjective  effect  of  worship  is  ul- 
timately based.  The  problem  of  the  Protestant  Church  has 
therefore  been  to  find  a  combination  of  objective  and  subjective 
worship  that  will  plant  and  nourish  the  religious  sentiments,  en- 
liven the  moral  emotions,  and  at  the  same  time  will  not  antagon- 
ize the  reason  of  its  members.  It  will  be  noticed  that  I  have 
mentioned  here  one  aim  very  prominent  in  Protestant  worship 


OBJECTIVE  AND  SUBJECTIVE  WORSHIP      301 

which  receives  but  little  stress  in  the  public  worship  of  the 
Catholic  Church  —  namely  the  enlivening  of  the  moral  emo- 
tions. The  Protestant  Church  seeks,  quite  self-consciously,  so 
to  construct  its  sendees  as  to  reinforce  the  moral  tendencies  of 
its  members  with  the  strength  which  comes  from  deep  religious 
sentiment. 

The  methods  by  which  the  Protestant  Churches  seek  to  solve 
their  problem  and  to  make  their  worship  best  fulfill  its  religious 
functions,  are  too  well  known  to  need  description.  Objective 
methods  have  by  no  means  been  completely  discarded.  There 
are  presumably  many  congregations  and  individuals  who  still 
intend  the  hymns  of  praise  which  they  sing  —  notably  the  Dox- 
ology  —  to  be  heard  by  the  Deity.  "  The  office  of  song  in  the 
sanctuary,"  writes  Dr.  Snowden  in  a  recent  book,  "  is  to  praise 
God.  Worship  seeks  the  highest  form  of  expression  which  is 
poetry  wedded  to  music,  the  rhythm  of  speech  and  song.  Music 
is  one  of  the  art-paths  to  God."  ^^  An  examination  of  our  mod- 
ern hymn-books,  however,  will  show  that  the  proportion  of 
what  we  might  call  objective  hymns  is  not  large,  and  a  study  of 
older  hymnals  in  comparison  makes  it  plain  that  the  percentage 
is  decreasing.^*  The  chief  function  of  the  hymn  is  decidedly 
subjective.  The  leading  form,  and  for  many  people  the  only 
form  of  objective  worship  left  in  the  Protestant  service  is 
prayer.  By  nearly  every  religious  Protestant  this  is  regarded 
as  truly  objective  in  its  nature  —  a  direct  address  of  the  soul  to 
the  Deity ;  and  it  seems  most  unlikely  that  more  than  a  very  few 
have  any  thought  when  they  pray  of  the  subjective  effects  prayer 
may  have  upon  them.  Here,  then,  we  find  worship  in  the  sim- 
ple, direct,  ancient  sense.  We  find  it,  that  is,  wherever  the 
people  actually  do  pray.     How  many  of  the  congregation  are 

13  "  The  Psychology  of  Religion,"  p.  245. 

1*  Cf.  super,  "  The  Psychology  of  Christian  Hymns,"  Am.  Jour,  of  Relig. 
Psy.,  Ill,  1-15.  The  history  of  the  use  of  hymns  in  the  Christian  service 
gives  an  interesting  example  of  the  change  from  purely  objective  to  largely 
subjective  worship.  In  the  medireval  church  the  hymns  were  all  in  Latin 
and  were  sung  not  by  the  congregation  but  by  the  choir  alone  —  the  obvious 
purpose  being  to  praise  God.  The  practice  of  writing  hymns  in  the  ver- 
nacular and  having  them  sung  by  the  congregation  began  with  the  Refor- 
mation—  especially  through  the  influence  of  Luther,  Gerhardt.  the  Mora- 
vians, and  the  Methodists. —  See  Hewitt,  "  Paul  Gerhardt  as  a  Hymn  Writer 
nnd  His  Influence  on  English  Hymnody  "  (Yale  University  Press:   1918). 


302  THE  KELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

praying  in  any  real  sense  of  the  word  diirincj  the  "  long  prayer  " 
is  a  question  which  only  He  who  hears  prayers  could  answer. 
If  T  may  trust  my  own  observation,  and  the  expressions  of  those 
whom  I  have  questioned  upon  the  subject,  no  very  large  portion 
of  the  congregation  "follow"  the  long  prayer,  and  fewer  still  find 
it  really  helpful  in  producing  even  the  prayerful  attitude  of 
mind. 

Nearly  all  the  details  of  the  Protestant  service,  then,  and  also 
the  service  as  a  whole,  are  planned  out  with  the  deliberate 
purpose  of  producing  certain  psychological  eifects  upon  the  con- 
gregation. ^'  The  minister,"  writes  Dr.  Hartshorne,  '^  has  a 
definite  purpose  and  a  definite  plan.  He  wishes  to  bring  the 
congregation  to  a  new  point  of  view  or  to  a  new  resolve.  To  this 
end  he  selects  music,  hvmns,  prayers,  Scripture,  and  address, 
and  weaves  all  into  a  harmonious  whole  which  shall,  in  its  total 
effect,  induce  the  desired  change  in  the  minds  of  the  audience. 
And  consciously  or  unconsciously  he  makes  use  of  the  psychology 
of  feeling  and  emotion."  ^^  How  successful  the  average  minis- 
ter is  in  this  aim,  the  reader  will  probably  decide  for  himself. 
Dr.  John  P.  Hylan  issued  a  questionnaire  on  this  subject,  a 
few  years  ago,  and  the  responses  showed  that  the  service,  the 
church  building,  and  even  the  day  itself  —  the  Sabbath  —  shed 
upon  most  of  the  respondents  a  certain  subjective  influence  of 
a  rather  mild  sort.^®  The  success  of  different  ministers  and 
different  churches  in  this  effort  of  course  varies  enormously. 

The  tools,  so  to  speak,  by  which  this  subjective  effect  is 
brought  about  are  well  kno^vn  to  us  all.  The  architecture  and 
its  decorations  help,  and  so  does  (to  those  who  attend  the  same 
church  all  their  lives)  the  close  association  between  the  familiar 
church  interior  and  the  religious  impressions  and  aspirations  of 
childhood.  The  creed,  recited  by  the  congregation  in  unison, 
has  the  effect  already  pointed  out  of  reinforcing  individual  faith 
by  social  confirmation.  Especially  is  the  congregational  singing 
of  hymns  productive  of  considerable  religious  feeling;"  while 

15  "Worship  in  the  Sunday  School"  (New  York,  Columbia  University: 
1913)    pp.   115-16. 

16  "Public  Worship"   (Chicago,  Open  Court:   1001).     Chap.  III. 

1' Dr.  Miiller-FrpiciifelH,  in  the  article  nlready  once  referrcfl  to,  reports 
the  result  of  a  statistical  investi;;ation  of  his  own  to  the  effect  that  hymn 
singing  in  which  the  worshiper  himself  takes  part  has  a  much  greater  emo- 


OBJECTIVE  AND  SUBJECTIVE  WORSHIP      303 

the  rendering  of  selections  by  the  choir  at  times  aids  in  produc- 
ing the  desired  religious  atmosphere  —  provided  the  selections 
be  really  religious  and  the  rendering  of  them  be  sincere/*  The 
"  Scripture  lesson  "  is  usually  too  short  to  be  of  much  influence. 
The  aim  of  the  sermon,  the  central  part  of  most  Protestant  wor- 
ship, seems  to  be  threefold :  to  increase  or  correct  the  faith  of 
the  hearers,  to  nourish  their  religious  sentiments,  and  to  arouse, 
fortify,  and  redirect  their  moral  convictions  and  emotions.  It 
is  here  that  the  Protestant  Church  finds  its  great  weapon  in 
liberalizing  and  deepening  religious  thought  and  in  directing 
the  forces  of  the  Christian  community  toward  purity  of  private 
life  and  toward  aggressive  actions  in  the  gTcat  struggle  for  so- 
cial righteousness.  The  responses  collected  by  Mr.  L.  W. 
Kline  from  various  types  of  church-goers  to  the  question, 
"  Please  state  in  what  way  sermons  affect  and  benefit  you," 
indicate  plainly  (so  far,  at  any  rate,  as  his  respondents  were 
typical)  that  it  is  the  moral  appeal  of  the  sermon,  especially 
when  delivered  with  unmistakable  earnestness  and  sincerity, 
that  produces  by  far  the  greatest  effect  the  preacher  can  hope 
for.^^ 

But  while  the  Protestant  Church  has  done  well  in  laying 
great  emphasis  upon  the  sermon,  it  is  a  question  whether  it 
has  not  laid  too  little  emphasis  upon  the  rest  of  the  service. 
A  recent  contributor  to  the  Atlantic  asserts,  in  half -earnest, 
that  "  nothing  would  be  so  beneficial  as  to  have  our  pulpits 
silenced  for  a  year.  .  .  .  The  other  phases  of  worship  would  be 
restored  —  the  worship  of  prayer,  confession,  praise,  and  en- 
lightened faith.  Some  of  them  are  entirely  gone  from  the 
churches.     The  people  no  longer  pray  but  listen  to  the  minister 

tional  effect  upon  him  than  music  to  which  he  merely  listens.  This  is,  of 
course,  what  we  should  naturally  expect. —  Op.  cit.,  p.  371. 

18  All  music  tends  to  rouse  some  kind  of  emotion,  but  the  state  of  mind 
incited  by  certain  kinds  of  emotion  may  be  almost  inhibitory  to  the  re- 
ligious sentiment.  Indeed  according  to  President  Faunce,  "  in  most 
churches  the  task  of  the  preacher  is  rendered  vastly  more  difficult  by  the 
intrusion  of  incongruous  or  impertinent  music.  After  the  choir  by  elabor- 
ate performance  has  brought  the  congregation  into  the  concert-mood,  the 
preacher  is  expected  to  remove  that  mood  and  replace  it  by  the  temper  of 
devotion."  ("The  Religious  Function  of  Public  Worship,"  Am.  Jour,  of 
Thol.  XIV  5.— Jan.,   1910). 

19  *'  The  Sermon :  A  Study  in  Social  Psychology."  —  Am.  Jour,  of  Relig. 
Psy.  and  Ed.  I,  288-300. 


304  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

as  he  pravs.**'  Worship  has  bocome  a  passive  matter.  The 
con^egatioii  lias  l^ecome  an  aiidienee  —  a  body  of  listeners."  *^ 
In  short,  the  Sunday  morning  church  service,  while  often  ap- 
pealing quite  admirably  to  the  moral  emotions  and  convictions 
of  the  worshipers,  seems  to  many  of  its  best  disposed  critics 
and  lovers  to  be  lacking  exactly  on  the  religious  side.  The 
reality  of  the  more-than-humaii,  the  relation  of  the  individual 
to  the  Determiner  of  Destinv,  the  intense  emotional  realization 
of  the  Cosmic, —  these  things  are  no  longer  suggested  to  us  in 
Church  as  they  used  to  be  to  our  fathers.  Somc^iow  in  our  smug 
security  we  seem  armed  against  them,  even  when  the  preacher 
tries  to  bring  them  home  to  us.  And  the  enormous  throngs 
who  never  enter  a  church  door  are  seldom  reminded  of  them. 

There  is  one  kind  of  religious  service  which  almost  every  one 
attends  occasionally,  no  matter  how  skeptical  he  be,  and  one 
which  seldom  fails  of  producing  upon  all  present  a  very  deep 
effect.  Strangely  enough,  moreover,  it  is  seldom  enumerated 
among  the  religious  methods  of  the  church.  For  an  increas- 
ingly large  number  of  people  in  our  days  the  only  form  of  re- 
ligious service  left  is  an  occasional  funeral.  With  the  rarest 
of  exceptions,  the  funeral  is  always  a  religious  ceremony. 
Other  former  functions  of  the  Church,  such  as  marriage,  educa- 
tion, the  care  of  the  poor,  etc.,  are  being  taken  over  by  the  civil 
authorities ;  but  the  disposal  of  the  dead  almost  everywhere  still 
remains  in  the  hands  of  religion.  And  though  the  religious 
value  of  the  funeral  is  seldom  recognized,  or  at  least  seldom 
mentioned,  it  is  very  considerable.  For  in  the  presence  of 
Death  we  find  ourselves  face  to  face  with  the  dreadful  and 
silent  forces  which  lie  beyond  our  control  —  the  Cosmic  Reality, 
our  conscious  relation  to  which  is  religion.  Here  we  stand  on 
the  very  edge  of  the  mystery.  The  curtain  for  a  moment  is 
partly  drawTi  and  we  get  a  glimpse  of  the  cosmic  process.  We 
return  to  our  little  tasks,  to  be  sure,  all  the  more  mystified, 
but  with  at  least  a  renewed  sense  of  the  reality  of  the  mystery. 
Compared  with  the  savage  or  with  the  mediaeval  Christian,  we 
moderns  spend  our  lives  almost  entirely  in  the  light  of  common 

20  Query:  Do  they? 

21 G.   P.   Atwater,   "The   Ministry:    An   Over-crowded   Profession."     At- 
lantic Monthly  for  Oct.,  1911,  pp.  483-84. 


OBJECTIVE  AND   SUBJECTIVE  WORSHIP      305 

day,  in  a  world  which  science  has  made  safe  and  common- 
place. It  takes  something  like  Death  to  startle  us  out  of  our 
complacent  scientific  and  practical  attitude,  and  to  reveal  to 
us  the  vista  of  cosmic  mystery  which  (in  cruder  forms)  was 
ever  present  to  our  less  scientific  forbears.  It  is  this  sense  of 
the  UnknowTi,  this  realization  of  our  own  dependence,  this  inti- 
mation of  a  Power  not  to  be  exhausted  by  the  study  of  science, 
this  questioning  of  the  Why,  the  Whence,  and  the  Whither,  this 
placing  of  ourselves  for  once  in  a  cosmic  setting  —  it  is  this  that 
the  funeral  brings,  and  to  this  that  it  owes  its  uniquely  religious 
value.  It  seems,  indeed,  almost  an  irrational  celebration  of  our 
o\vn  defeat,  yet  so  commanding  is  its  position  in  the  spiritual 
economy  of  our  lives  that  we  may  feel  fairly  sure  of  its  retention 
as  a  religious  ceremony  to  the  end  of  human  time. 

But  whether  our  Protestant  Sunday  service  needs  more  of  the 
solemnity  and  of  the  cosmic  quality  which  the  funeral  possesses, 
or  whether  its  chief  need  be  more  moral  earnestness,  more  ritual, 
more  preaching  or  no  preaching  at  all,  there  seems  at  any  rate 
to  be  a  pretty  general  feeling  that  it  needs  something.  Our 
various  denominations  are  showing  a  very  commendable  dis- 
satisfaction with  their  present  methods  and  a  willingness  to 
experiment  on  new  lines  in  the  hope  of  finding  some  type  of 
worship  more  generally  satisfactory.  We  see  them  fumbling 
about,  groping  for  light,  trying  new  plans  of  popular  appeal 
which  range  all  the  way  from  vested  choirs  to  moving  pictures. 
A  fairly  large  body  in  many  of  the  denominations  feels  the 
need  of  more  ritual  —  a  need  which,  as  we  have  seen,  is  deeply 
founded  in  human  psychology.  New  rituals  are  therefore  be- 
ing rapidly  produced,  but  none  of  them  seem  quite  to  fill  the 
need  —  a  fact  which  might  indeed  have  been  anticipated  con- 
sidering the  importance  of  a  traditional  sanction  if  the  ritual 
is  to  be  felt  as  appropriate  and  fitting.  The  problem  of  re- 
shaping the  Protestant  worship  is  in  fact  pecularly  difficult. 
For  it  means  discovering  a  method  of  nourishing  the  religious 
sentiments  of  people  most  of  whom  are  of  the  intellectual  and 
active  types.  And  it  must  do  this  without  the  aid  of  the  two 
most  powerful  means  which  other  churches  and  religions  make 
use  of  for  the  purpose  —  namely  the  kind  of  belief  which  makes 
elaborate  objective  worship  easy  and  natural  for  large  groups. 


306        thp:  religious  consciousness 

and  a  ritual  which  has  tlic  authority  and  sanctity  of  generations 
behind  it." 

Fortunately  it  is  not  the  task  of  a  writer  on  the  psychology 
of  religion  to  devise  a  solution  for  this  problem.  I  shall  there- 
fore content  myself  here  by  pointing  out  one  or  two  things. 
In  the  first  place  \vc  must  remember  that  no  one  solution  is 
possible.  The  variations  in  human  temperament  and  taste  are 
so  great  that  a  very  considerable  diversity  in  ritual  among 
Christian  churches  —  even  among  those  who  believe  exactly  the 
same  things  —  will  always  be  not  only  desirable  but  necessary 
if  the  Church  is  to  feed  the  needs  of  all.  The  union  of  Chris- 
tian churches  in  their  various  philanthropic  and  missionary 
undertakings  is  doubtless  very  desirable ;  but  a  union  of  the 
Churches  which  should  banish  or  even  decrease  the  present 
diversity  in  ritual  would  be  a  real  misfortune.^^ 

22  The  Protestant  Episcopal  Church  has  a  much  less  difTicuIt  problem; 
for  it  has  inherited  a  ritual  which  not  only  is  beautiful  in  itself,  but  ia 
rich  in  the  sanctity  and  authority  of  an  age-long  tradition.  Such  a  ritual 
is  peculiarly  adapted  to  the  production  of  the  religious  atmosphere;  and 
the  individual  brought  up  within  the  Episcopal  fold  almost  invariably  finds 
his  church  an  excellent  place  in  which  to  pray.  The  problem  for  the 
Episcopalian  is  simply  to  make  his  ritual  elastic  and  adapted  to  the  grow- 
ing and  ever  new  needs  of  the  times,  while  keeping  it  also  conservative  and 
ancient.  He  must,  if  he  can,  strike  the  golden  mean  between  the  old  and 
the  new,  he  must  retain  enough  of  the  traditional  to  appeal  to  the  reli- 
gious sentiment  and  yet  surrender  enough  and  add  enough  to  conform  to 
the  demands  of  modern  thought  and  modern  needs.  Changes,  therefore, 
should  be  made  from  time  to  time  in  the  ritual,  but  such  changes  should 
be  gradual  and  for  the  moment  always  slight.  If  an  outsider  might  make 
one  further  suggestion,  I  would  add  that  the  Episcopal  Church  would  at 
any  rate  make  a  much  greater  appeal  to  stray  visitors  from  other  folds 
if  her  clergymen  would  pay  more  attention  to  the  intellectual  content  of 
their  sermons  and  the  moral  significance  of  their  themes.  There  are  many 
excellent  preachers  within  the  Episcopal  Church,  but  the  clergyman  too 
often  appears  to  be  satisfied  with  a  deadly  conventional  treatment  of  an 
insignificant  or  antiquatM  subject,  seeming  to  be  under  the  impression 
that  the  banality  of  his  remarks  may  be  hidden  under  a  large  use  of  the 
"  chancel  voice." 

23  The  diverse  ritualistic  needs  of  men  sharing  practically  the  same  be- 
liefs is  well  illustrated  by  the  case  of  those  two  good  friends  and  excellent 
Christians,  John  Bright  and  William  E.  Gladstone.  In  his  journal  under 
date  of  September,  187.3,  while  on  a  visit  to  Gladstone,  Bright  comments: 
"To  Church.  Service  high.  Three  parsons.  Mr.  Gladstone  most  earnest 
in  the  singing,  etc.  To  me  much  of  the  service  seemed  only  fitted  for  very 
Ignorant  people."  (Quoted  in  Trevelyan's  "Life  of  John  Bright,"  London, 
Constable:   1913,  p.  415.) 


OBJECTIVE  AND  SUBJECTIVE  WORSHIP      307 

No  solution,  moreover,  seems  to  be  possible  which  relies 
wholly  on  what  I  have  called  subjective  methods.  The  attempt 
to  produce  merely  subjective  religious  effects  is  always  in  dan- 
ger of  defeating  itself.  For  religion,  as  we  have  seen,  involves 
a  belief  which  means  to  have  objective  validity ;  and  if  worship 
neglects  this  and  directs  all  its  efforts  openly  to  the  production 
of  changes  in  social  and  psychical  conditions,  it  may  indeed 
remain  a  moral  force,  but  it  ceases  to  be  religious  and  it  loses 
all  the  emotional  reinforcement  that  comes  from  the  religious 
sentiment.  I  cannot,  therefore,  think  that  anything  of  much 
importance  will  be  brought  about  by  the  adoption  of  prayer 
books  or  the  processionals  of  vested  choirs  or  anything  else  of  a 
merely  superficial  sort.  The  difficulty  with  Protestant  worship 
goes  deeper  than  the  surface,  and  until  some  more  fundamental 
change  is  wrought,  its  mode  of  worship  will  remain  always  un- 
satisfactory. The  worshiper  in  the  Protestant  Church  must  be 
made  to  feel,  as  the  Catholic  feels  at  the  mass,  that  something  is 
really  being  done  —  something  in  addition  to  the  subjective 
change  in  his  own  consciousness.  Let  him  understand  that  you 
wish  him  to  come  to  church  in  order  that  you  may  make  a 
psychological  impression  on  him,  and  he  will  be  increasingly 
likely  to  stay  away.  Or  he  may  come  to  hear  your  opera  singer, 
but  his  religious  sentiment  will  remain  untouched.  If  public 
worship  is  to  be  profitable  to  him  he  must  find  in  it  something 
more  than  that.  In  other  words,  what  the  Protestant  service 
needs  more  than  anything  else  is  the  development  of  the  ob- 
jective side  of  its  worship.  As  we  have  seen,  the  principal  ob- 
jective element  left  in  the  Protestant  service  is  prayer.  Here, 
then,  a  beginning  of  the  solution  of  the  Protestant  problem  may 
be  sought.  The  worshiper  may  be  made  to  feel  as  he  does  not 
to-day  that  in  prayer  something  really  happens.  This  need 
not  and  should  not  mean  that  answer  to  special  prayers  and 
the  influence  of  prayer  upon  war  and  weather  is  to  be  inculcated 
from  the  pulpit.  It  does  mean  that  if  the  Protestant  Church 
desires  to  make  its  worship  more  vital  it  should  take  great  new 
pains  to  train  its  members,  and  especially  its  children,  in  the 
habit  of  prayer,  and  in  the  belief  that  somehow  in  prayer  one 
puts  oneself  in  touch  with  a  supersensible  world.  The  church 
should  see  to  it  that  whatever  else  its  Sunday  service  may  neg- 


308  THE  KELIGIOUS  CO.XSCIOUSNESS 

lect  to  do,  it  should  bring  to  its  worshipers  an  atmosphere  of 
prayer,  and  a  sense  of  the  real  presence  of  the  Divine.  Of 
course  Protestantism  has  alwavs  made  some  effort  in  this  direc- 
tion,  but  when  one  compares  the  training  in  prayer  and  medi- 
tation which  most  of  its  young  people  receive  with  the  best  of 
the  religious  training  given  by  the  Catholic  Church,  one  un- 
derstands that  there  is  a  kind  of  inwardness,  a  sense  of  the  vital 
reality  of  spiritual  things,  a  feeling  of  need  for  spiritual  rein- 
forcement, which  Protestantism  has  failed  to  foster. 

But  we  must  go  deeper  than  this  and  ask  ourselves  the  ques- 
tion whether  we  really  believe  that  worship  is  any  longer  possi- 
ble in  the  modem  world  at  all.  Plainly  if  objective  worship 
be  impossible  for  the  intelligent,  and  if  subjective  without  ob- 
jective worship  is  self-delusion,  there  is  an  end  of  all  worship 
for  the  modern  man.  Plainly  also  the  second  of  the  above 
h;ypothetical  propositions  is  true, —  subjective  worship  without 
some  objective  worship  cannot  stand.  The  question,  there- 
fore, narrows  down  to  this:  Is  any  kind  of  objective  worship 
possible  for  the  man  of  our  age  ?  In  answer  to  this  it  must 
be  said  plainly  and  first  of  all,  that  objective  worship  of  the 
sort  that  aims  to  please  the  Deity  is  a  thing  of  the  past.  The 
modem  man  cannot  even  attempt  to  participate  in  it  without 
conscious  hypocrisy.  That  is  not  the  end  of  the  matter,  how- 
ever. There  is  a  kind  of  worship  that  is  perfectly  objective 
and  sincere  and  that  is  quite  as  possible  for  the  intelligent  man 
of  to-day  as  it  was  for  the  ancient : —  namely  that  union  of  awe 
and  gratitude  which  is  reverence,  combined  perhaps  with  con- 
secration and  a  suggestion  of  communion,  which  most  thought- 
ful men  must  feel  in  the  presence  of  the  Cosmic  forces  and  in 
reflecting  upon  them.  Such  was  the  attitude  of  Spinoza  and 
Herbert  Spencer.  Such  was  the  genuinely  objective  worship  of 
the  ancient  philosophers  of  Greece  and  India,  and  of  many  of 
the  Hebrew  Psalmists  and  Prophets.  In  this  act  of  instinctive 
self-abasement  there  is  no  aim  of  producing  an  effect  upon  one- 
self; the  attitude  is  as  objective  as  it  is  natural.  Worship  is 
therefore  not  something  to  be  outgrown.  Its  forms  change  with 
the  changing  symbols,  the  changing  robes  with  w^hich  men  seek 
to  deck  out  the  Determiner  of  Destiny.     The  thing  itself  is  as 


OBJECTIVE  AND  SUBJECTIVE  WOKSHIP      309 

eternal  as  is  man's  finitude.  The  task  of  the  Church  is  to 
stimulate  and  direct  this  fundamental  human  impulse,  with 
what  wisdom  it  can  supply. 


CHAPTER  XV 

PRAYER    AND    PRIVATE    WORSHIP 

In  the  chapter  on  the  Cult  and  Its  Causes  we  saw  that  the 
earliest  religious  object  was  in  all  probability  that  impersonal 
and  superhuman  power  which  the  Mclanesians  called  mana; 
and  that  individuals  as  well  as  social  groups  from  a  very  early 
period  must  have  felt  characteristic  emotions  and  taken  charac- 
teristic attitudes  in  relation  to  it.  This  felt  relation  of  the 
individual  to  the  cosmic  power,  and  the  responses  to  which  it 
led,  developed  (after  the  conception  of  supernatural  conscious 
beings  had  arisen)  into  two  interlocking  though  distinguishable 
phenomena,  which  we  may  call  private  magic  and  private  wor- 
ship. The  distinction  between  magic  and  religion  which  for 
our  purposes  shall  here  be  adopted,  has  already  been  indicated. 
We  shall,  namely,  follo^v  Hartland  and  Leuba,  who  use  the 
word  magic  to  include  those  supernatural  devices  employed  to 
gain  one's  end  without  the  help  of  spirits  or  gods,  reserving  the 
words  religious  cult  and  ivorship  for  those  acts  which  depend 
upon  the  aid  of  the  gods  for  the  realization  of  the  ends  desired. 
The  interrelations  of  the  individual's  magic  with  his  private 
religious  expressions  is  of  some  interest  and  importance.  Not 
many  anthropologists  are  willing  to  hold  with  Frazer  that  re- 
ligion is  simply  "  the  despair  of  magic,"  ^  and  that  it  merely 
succeeded  it  in  time.  A  view  which  has  place  for  more  of  the 
facts  is  that  held  by  Marett  and  Wundt,  that  religion  grew  out 
of  magic.  On  this  general  question  little  need  here  be  said, 
unless  it  be  to  refer  the  reader  back  to  the  brief  discussion  of 
the  subject  in  Chapter  XII.  It  is  possible  that  magic  preceded 
the  rise  of  belief  in  definitely  anthropomorphic  spirits  or  gods, 
but  there  is  small  reason  to  suppose  that  the  two  were  related 
as  source  and  outgrowth.  No  objection  can  well  be  found  to 
the  view  that  both  magic  and  the  belief  in  spirits  grew,  together 

1 "  Golden  Bough,"  Vol.  I,  Chap.  4,  esp.  pp.  237-40. 

310 


praye:^  and  private  worship        311 

but  independently,  out  of  the  original  concept  of  mana.  But 
the  point  that  is  here  of  special  interest  is  the  question  of  the 
relation  of  the  magical  spell  to  the  (religious)  prayer.  As  the 
title  of  his  well-known  essay  indicates,  Marett's  view  is  that  the 
course  of  religious  development  was  "  From  Spell  to  Prayer."  ^ 
The  spell,  in  Marett's  opinion,  may  have  originated  as  a  descrip- 
tive accompaniment  of  various  magical  acts,^  but  its  real  nature 
is  seen  only  when  it  becomes  an  integral  part  of  the  performance 
and  acts  as  an  imperative  utterance,  a  projection  of  the  will, 
which  in  some  supernatural  fashion  (through  the  action  of 
mana)  produces  the  desired  effect.  As  disappointing  experi- 
ences come  to  produce  the  conviction  that  the  mere  projection 
of  will  by  means  of  a  spell  will  not  always  achieve  the  end  de- 
sired, and  as  the  magician  also  comes  to  personify  the  instru- 
ment or  symbol  which  he  uses  in  his  magical  performance,  "  the 
imperative  passes  into  the  optative  "  and  the  spell  becomes  a 
prayer.*  Wundt's  view  is  not  very  dissimilar.  Prayer  origin- 
ates from  spell  (Beschworung) ,  which  is  altogether  a  matter 
of  magic. ^ 

It  is  quite  possible  and  in  fact  very  likely  that  spell  antidated 
prayer.  There  is,  indeed,  no  decisive  evidence  on  the  matter, 
though  there  may  be  some  significance  in  the  fact  that  among 
the  Australians  of  to-day  the  use  of  spells  is  well  developed, 
while  their  prayers  are  hardly  more  than  embryonic.^  But  to 
say  that  the  spell  antidated  the  prayer  is  one  thing;  to  say  that 
it  produced  it,  that  prayer  came  from  spell,  is  quite  another. 
One  cannot  logically  argue  from  the  chronological  to  the  causal 
connection.  The  reasons  given  for  such  a  view  are  far  from 
conclusive.     Wundt  gives  no  reason  at  all,  but  simply  states 

2  Published  first  in  Folk  Lore,  for  June,  1904,  and  later  reprinted  in  his 
"The  Threshold  of  Relipion." 

3  "  The  Threshold  of  Religion,"  p.  54.  Ames  adopts  this  suggestion  and 
makes  more  of  it  than  does  its  author.  See  his  "  Psychology  of  Religious 
Experience,"  p.  142. 

*  Op.  cit.  See  also  Marett's  article  "  Prayer  "  in  the  Encyclopedia  Bri- 
tannica  (11th  Ed.). 

6  Volkerpsychologie.     Vol.  II,  Part  III    (i.e.,  really  Vol.  V),  pp.  656-62. 

8  See  Spencer  and  Gillen,  op.  eit.  passim,  and  especially  Chap.  XVI.  The 
spells  used  by  the  ancient  Babylonians  were  evidentlj"  much  older  than 
the  prayers  and  hymns  to  which  they  were  (later  on)  attached. —  See  Jas- 
trow,  "The  Civilization  of  Ancient  Babylonia  and  Assyria"  (Philadelphia, 
Lippincott:   1915),  pp.  239-40. 


312  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

his  view  in  t^'pically  Teutonic  and  dogmatic  fashion.  Marett 
gives  two  arguments, —  the  natural  tendency  of  the  savage  to 
personify  the  instrument  of  his  magic,  and  the  frequent  failure 
of  the  spell  as  a  command/  But  the  tendency  to  personifica- 
tion is  of  too  wide  an  influence  to  appeal  to  here.  It  may  be 
called  the  source  of  the  development  of  anthropomorphic  gods 
out  of  the  primeval  and  impersonal  mafia;  but  with  this  per- 
sonification surely  the  spell  has  nothing  to  do.  Moreover,  given 
such  gods,  no  special  personification  of  the  magical  instrument 
is  needed  to  account  for  prayer.  Mr.  Marett's  second  reason  is 
surely  not  different  from  Frazer's  "  despair  of  magic,"  which 
Marett  sees  clearly  is  no  reason  at  all.®  In  short  there  is,  in 
my  opinion  at  least,  no  good  reason  for  supposing  that  prayer 
came  from  spell,  although  it  is  very  probable  that  many  of 
those  who  despaired  of  spell  betook  themselves  to  prayer. 
There  is  a  possible  origin  for  prayer  so  natural  and  obvious  that 
it  is  hard  to  understand  the  learned  and  laborious  efforts  made 
by  so  many  scholars  to  explain  its  rise  in  some  intricate  and  un- 
expected fashion.  Granted  that  out  of  the  original  feeling  for 
the  impersonal  maiia  the  belief  in  personal  powers  arose,  direct 
appeal  to  them  was  surely  the  most  natural  thing  in  the  world. 
And  if  we  are  to  consider  the  matter  causally  rather  than  chron- 
ologically, surely  this  is  the  most  obvious  and  probable  explana- 
tion of  the  rise  of  prayer. 

I  would  not,  ho^vever,  be  understood  as  implying  that  prayer 
and  spell  stand  in  only  a  chronological  relation  to  each  other. 
There  can  be  no  question  of  their  mutual  influence.  Certain 
spells  undoubtedly  passed  over  into  prayers,  as  the  belief  in 
powerful  spirits  or  gods  became  more  dominant.  A  great  deal 
of  primitive  prayer  was  magical  in  spirit,  and  some  of  its  magi- 
cal nature  has  been  inherited  by  the  prayers  of  even  the  most 
spiritual  religions.  Thus  the  almost  universal  practice  of  clos- 
ing Christian  prayers  with  some  such  formula  as,  ^'  In  the  name 
of  Jesus  Christ,"  or  "  For  Jesus's  sake,"  etc.,  is  regarded  by 

7  The  latter  appears  only  in  his  Encyclopedia  article. 

8  As  a  third  argument  it  may  be  urged  that  in  some  cases  we  actually 
find  the  spell  passing  over  into  the  prayer;  to  which  one  may  reply  that 
quite  as  often  we  find  the  prayer  passing  over  into  the  spell.  These  facts 
will  be  discussed  a  little  later  on. 


PRAYER  AND  PRIVATE  WORSHIP  313 

anthropologists  as  a  survival  of  the  magical  custom  of  using 
the  names  of  powerful  spirits  as  spells.     But  the  history  of 
religion  gives  us  also  many  instances  of  the  influence  running  in 
the  other  direction,  instances  which  can  only  he  descrihed  hy 
the  words,  from  prayer  to  spell.     The  earliest  human  records 
legible,  the  Pyramid  Texts  of  Egypt,  contain  many  a  prayer, 
quoted  from  a  period  far  more  ancient  even  than  they,  and  used 
in  the  texts  as  a  magical  formula.^     The  whole  history  of  prayer 
in  early  India,  from  the  Vedic  to  the  Brahmanic  period,  is  an- 
other illustration  of  this  tendency,  the  spontaneous  prayers  of 
the  early  Rishis  becoming  hallowed  and  crystallized  into  magi- 
cal formulas  by  which  the  gods  themselves  could  be  coerced.  ^^ 
This  tendency,  in  fact,  is  by  no  means  limited  to  Egypt  and 
India,  but  is  to  be  found  in  almost  every  religion.     Spontane- 
ous prayer  tends  to  get  itself  repeated  under  recurring  similar 
circumstances,  according  to  the  law  of  habit.     Every  one  who 
observes  the  custom  of  ''  saying  his  prayers  '^  at  night  or  in 
the  morning  must  have  noticed  how  inevitably  one's  prayers 
become   stereotyped   and   how   unavoidably   one   formulates   a 
kind  of  private  ritual.     Thus  prayer,  private  as  well  as  public, 
tends  to  become  formal.     Eormal  public  prayers  the  individual 
learns  from  his  elders,  by  imitation  or  direct  instruction,  and 
coming  as  most  of  them  do  with  the  authority  of  several  gen- 
erations behind  them  they  are  learned  with  reverence  and  re- 
garded as  sacred.     The  very  form  of  words  itself  has  a  kind  of 
sanctity,  is  peculiarly  religious,  and  is  naturally  regarded  as 
especially  pleasing  to  the  deity.     Hence  these  formal  prayers 
finally  come  to  be  viewed  as  possessing  a  virtue  of  their  own, 
and  as  producing  some  kind  of  good  result  —  even  if  they  be 
in  a  language  quite  unintelligible  to  the  one  who  uses  them. 

»  So  at  least  Breasted  interprets  them.  See  his  "  Religion  and  Thought 
in  Ancient  Egypt"   (New  York,  Scribners:   1912),  p.  95. 

10  The  most  primitive  people  of  modern  India,  the  Todas,  present  in  their 
prayers  a  curious  instance  of  much  the  same  thing.  Prayers,  indeed,  these 
still  are  in  a  sense,  but  they  are  in  the  very  process  of  breaking  down  and 
turning  into  spells.  What  there  is  left  of  them  shows  that  they  were 
once  simple  petitions,  but  at  present  the  petitional  part  "  is  often  slurred 
over  hastily  and  is  less  strictly  regulated  than  the  preliminary  portion 
of  the  prayer,"  which  consists  in  reciting  various  names,  for  whose  sake 
the  prayer  is  said  to  be  oflfered.  ( Rivers,  "  The  Todas,"  London,  Macmil- 
lan:  1906,  Chap.  X.) 


314  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

ITonco  the  map^ic  naturo  of  tlio  praycr-whcol  for  the  Tibetan,  of 
the  Sanskrit  prayer  to  the  illiterate  Hindu,  of  the  Pali  prayer 
to  the  Chinese  Hiuklhist,  and  of  the  Latin  Pater  Noster  to  the 
European  peasant.  When  the  ritualistic  prayer  comes  thus  to 
be  considered  as  possessing  power  in  itself,  regardless  of  the 
mental  state  of  him  who  says  it,  it  ceases  of  course  to  be  a 
prayer  at  all  and  becomes  exactly  a  magic  spell. 

There  is  no  doubt  that  all  ritualistic  prayer  is  open  to  this 
danger ;  but  to  say  that  is  not  to  imply  that  the  danger  is  unes- 
eapable  nor  that  ritual  is  without  its  great  counter  advantages. 
Even  the  external  aids  of  ritualistic  prayer,  the  bent  knee,  the 
closed  eye,  and  other  bodily  postures  commonly  used  in  wor- 
ship, have  on  many  a  worshiper  a  decidedly  helpful  effect  in 
bringing  about  the  religious  attitude  of  mind."  This  is  partly 
due  to  the  fact  that  most  of  the  postures  in  question  tend  to 
the  concentration  of  attention, ^^  and  manv  of  them  have  been 
chosen  quite  naturally  with  nothing  arbitrary  or  fortuitous 
about  them,  having  developed  directly  from  human  nature  and 
its  instinctive  expressions.  Nearly  every  one  feels  the  helpful- 
ness of  closing  the  eyes  in  prayer,  as  this  shuts  out  all  irrelevant 
visual  impressions.  The  concentrated  gaze  of  the  Indian  Yogin 
does  much  the  same  thing  and  also  aids  in  concentration  of 
thought ;  while  the  attitudes  of  kneeling  or  lying  prostrate  are 
the  natural  expressions  of  humility,  or  of  what  McDougal  calls 
the  instinct  of  self-abasement  ^^  and  hence  are  real  helps  to 

11  Not  all  feel  this  influence.  The  respondents  to  a  questionnaire  of  mine 
upon  prayer  are  almost  evenly  divided  on  this  question,  one  half  testifying 
to  the  helpful  influence  of  bodily  posture,  the  others  insisting  that  bodily 
posture  has  no  noticeable  effect  upon  them.  Catholics  are  probably  more 
susceptible  to  external  influences  of  this  sort  than  Protestants,  and  with 
them  the  influence  of  bodily  posture  is  often  considerable.  Professor  Se- 
gond  writes:  "  Les  mouvements  que  Ton  fait,  dans  le  cult  catholique, 
selon  lea  divers  moments  des  offices,  les  agenouillements,  les  prosterne- 
ments,  les  relevements,  I'imniobilit^  que  Ton  impose  au  corps,  la  fixation 
des  regards  sur  I'autel,  toutes  ces  conditions  ont  pour  fin  encore  d'amener 
les  tideles  a  se  recueillir;  et  toutes  d^terminent  une  certaine  tonality  des 
rythmes  vitaux ;  toutes,  des  lors,  r^glent  la  conscience  coenesthesique,  et 
font  '  rentrer  en  lui-meme '  le  fidele  par  le  sentiment  de  ce  qui  se  passe  en 
lui."      ("La  Priere,"  Paris,  Alcan :    1911.  pp.  72-73.) 

12  Cf.  Stolz,  "Autosuggestion  in  Private  Prayer"  (published  by  the  au- 
thor, 1913),  pp.  24-25 

13  "  Social  Psychology,"  pp.  62-66. 


PRAYER  AND  PRIVATE  WORSHIP  315 

bringing  about  the  humble  attitude  of  the  mind  before  God. 
Association  also  plays  its  part.  If,  as  is  the  case  with  so  many 
millions  of  human  beings,  the  experience  of  kneeling,  closing 
one's  eyes,  and  clasping  one's  hands  has  from  earliest  childhood 
been  associated  with  the  emotions  of  reverence  and  religious 
awe,  it  is  but  natural  that  they  should  continue  to  suggest  and 
incipiently  to  produce  these  emotions  throughout  life. 

The  articulation  of  a  definite  form  of  religious  words,  pro- 
vided it  has  not  become  a  meaningless  form  of  words,  acts  even 
more  forcibly  in  the  same  direction.  Only  for  the  mystically 
inclined  is  wordless  prayer  valuable  or  even  possible;  and  as 
many  a  man,  especially  of  the  less  religious  or  even  of  the  less 
educated  type,  would  find  himself  quite  speechless  if  he  de- 
pended for  prayer  upon  his  own  spontaneous  expression,  it  is 
well  that  society  should  furnish  for  all  who  need  it  some  form 
of  words  expressive  of  universal  human  need  and  aspiration, 
sanctified  if  possible  by  the  authority  of  past  generations,  "  rich 
with  the  diction  of  ages.'' 

For  expression,  it  must  be  remembered,  is  an  integral  part 
of  most  comprehension.  Whether  or  not  imageless  thought  be 
possible,  we  make,  at  any  rate,  all  our  finer  discriminations  of 
meaning  by^the  help  of  various  real  or  imagined  (i.  e.  incipient) 
sensuous  experience  and  actions.  The  most  natural  and  habit- 
ual of  these  activities  and  sensations  are  those  connected  with 
language.  We  think  chiefly  in  words ;  and  if  there  is  any  ob- 
stacle to  our  thought,  we  tend  to  speak  the  words.  When  we 
meet  with  a  particularly  blind  sentence  in  some  book,  we  are 
often  helped  by  reading  it  aloud.  The  same  assistance  which 
this  vocal  expression  gives  us  in  grasping  the  meaning  of 
an  ambiguous  sentence  or  of  an  illusive  suggestion,  many  a  mind 
of  relatively  simple  organization  seeks  for  and  needs  in  order 
to  realize  fully  the  meaning  of  his  own  dumb  religious  aspir- 
ations. If  the  prayer  is  not  given  him  in  words,  and  if  he 
does  not  at  least  incipiently  mumble  the  words,  he  cannot  in- 
telligently pray.  Unless  there  be  some  sort  of  articulation,  of 
definite  words,  his  prayer  loses  half  its  meaning. 

Of  course  not  only  half,  but  all  the  meaning  of  the  prayer 
is  lost  if  by  repetition  it  has  become  a  mere  form  of  words. 
Yet  there  may  be  a  certain  psychological  and  religious  value 


316  THE  RELKilOl  S  CONSCIOUSNESS 

even  in  prayer  which  has  thus  lost  its  meaning,  a  value  seldom 
recognized  })ut  one  that  probably  is  an  important  factor  in  the 
vitality  of  lliuldliism,  Mohammedanism,  Catholicism,  and  in 
fact  of  all  really  living  religions  that  make  large  use  of  ritual. 
The  form  of  words  recited  may  act  upon  the  mind  of  the  wor- 
shiper in  almost  the  same  way  as  the  bodily  posture,  the  in- 
fluence of  which  was  recentlv  discussed.  The  verbal  recitation 
may  be  associated,  by  the  force  of  long-standing  habit,  or  of 
deliberate  effort,  either  with  the  prayerful  attitude  of  mind  in 
general,  or  with  some  specific  line  of  pious  meditation  or  prayer- 
ful aspiration.  That  the  Pali  prayers  act  thus  upon  many  an 
illiterate  Buddhist  and  the  Arabic  prayers  do  the  same  for 
many  an  illiterate  Moslem,  I  feel  convinced.  A  Buddhist  monk 
in  Mandalay  said  to  me,  "  Prayer  repeated  by  one  who  does 
not  understand  any  of  it  —  for  instance,  a  Pali  prayer  recited 
bv  one  who  knows  no  Pali  —  mav  have  some  value ;  for  it 
keeps  the  man's  mind  from  evil  thoughts  for  the  time  being,  and 
also  because  the  man  at  least  Jcnoivs  that  he  is  praying  and  means 
these  unintelligible  syllables  as  a  prayer,  and  this  puts  him  into 
the  prayerful  state  of  mind.  For  this  reason  our  sacred  books 
assign  some  value  even  to  prayers  which  one  does  not  under- 
stand." Nor  is  this  spiritual  use  of  prayer  formula  confined 
to  the  East.  The  Catholic  Church  sometimes  aims  deliberately 
at  this  efTect.  One  is  instructed  while  saying  the  ten  *'  Hail 
Marys  "  of  each  decade  of  the  Rosary  to  fasten  the  attention 
not  upon  the  words  repeated,  but  upon  one  of  the  mysteries, 
then  upon  another  during  the  repetition  of  the  next  ten,  and  so 
on  to  the  end.  In  like  manner  the  repetition  of  many  of  the 
other  (Latin)  prayers  of  the  Church  is  used  as  an  aid  for 
fixing  the  thoughts  on  some  reliprious  theme  not  found  in  the 
prayer  and  for  preventing  them  from  wandering.'^* 

A  ritual  of  prayer,  whether  public  or  private,  is  therefore 
helpful  to  very  many  worshipers.  There  are  also,  however, 
many  persons  w^ho  find  public  ritual  disturbing  and  positively 
harmful  to  their  devotions.  Some  of  these  object  to  the  ritual, 
some  to  the  publicity.     Objection  to  ritual  as  such  arises  largely 

1*  Dr.  Stolz  suggests  that  this  automatic  recitation  of  the  rosary  also 
aids  in  concentration  of  attention  by  providing  "  an  outlet  for  distracting 
impressions."     ("Autosuggestion  in  Private  Prayer,"  p.  38.) 


PRAYER  AND  PRIVATE  WORSHIP  317 

from  some  particular  conception  of  what  prayer  should  be, 
while  objection  to  praying  in  public  most  often  comes  from  per- 
sons of  the  mystical  temperament,  who,  having  found  in  prayer 
something  so  inexpressibly  more  precious  than  anything  which 
public  ritual  at  its  best  can  give,  see  in  the  latter  a  poor  ex- 
change for  what  they  might  experience  in  private.  ^'  I  have 
no  hesitation  in  saying,"  writes  the  anonymous  author  of  ^^  An 
Aspect  of  Prayer,"  '*  that  to  persons  of  my  own  disposition  pub- 
lic prayer  presents  considerable  difficulty ;  and  I  think  that 
such  must  be  the  case  with  all  those  who,  like  myself,  are 
keenly  sensitive  to  their  surroundings.  It  is  very  rarely  in- 
deed that  I  can  attain  to  any  concentration  of  thought  when  in 
company  with  others,  and  hence  it  is  seldom  that  I  take  part 
in  public  worship."  ^^  Some  mystics  find  even  the  use  of 
definite  words  in  prayer  harmful  or  quite  impossible.  ^'  What 
surprises  me  most,"  writes  Mme.  Guyon,  '^  is  that  I  had  great 
difficulty  in  saying  my  spoken  prayers  which  I  had  been  in  the 
custom  of  saying.  As  soon  as  I  opened  my^  mouth  to  pronounce 
them,  the  [divine]  love  seized  me  so  strongly  that  I  remained 
absorbed  in  profound  silence  and  in  a  peace  which  I  cannot  ex- 
press. I  made  new  attempts,  and  passed  my  time  in  beginning 
my  prayers  without  being  able  to  finish  them."  ^® 

It  would  be  interesting,  were  it  possible,  to  know  what  pro- 
portion of  the  community  pray ;  but  with  our  present  data  a  dis- 
cussion of  this  subject  would  be  idle,^^  hence  I  turn  to  the  more 
hopeful  query,  Wliy  people  pray.     As  was  the  case  with  the 

15  "An  Aspect  of  Prayer,"  by  "  Digamma "  (Oxford,  Blackwell:  1908), 
p.  15. 

16  Quoted  by  Segond  in  "  La  Priere,"  p.  185.  The  bienheureuse  Mar- 
guerite-^Iarie  confessed  to  the  same  difficulty.  (Id.,  p.  183.)  St.  Teresa 
had  a  similar  experience  and  warns  against  the  danger  of  saying  fixed 
prayers.  See  Lejeunc,  "Introduction  H  la  Vie  Mystique"  (Paris,  Le- 
thielleux:   1899),  p.  87. 

17  Out  of  193  renpondenta  to  questionnaires  on  this  subject,  issued  a  few 
years  ago  by  me  and  my  students,  all  but  eight  report  that  they  pray.  All 
of  Mr.  F.  O.  Beck's  respondents  pray  (see  his  "Prayer:  A  Study  in  Its 
History  and  Psychology,"  Am.  Jour,  of  Relig.  Psy.,  II,  107-12).  One  hun- 
dred out  of  126  college  students  who  replied  to  the  questionnaire  issued 
by  Messrs.  ^Morse  and  Allen  report  that  they  pray  ("The  Religion  of  One 
Hundred  and  Twenty-six  College  Students,"  Am.  Jour,  of  Relig.  Psy.,  VI, 
175-194).  Owing  to  the  selective  nature  of  questionnaires  on  religion, 
however,  these  statistics  seem  to  me  to  be  worth  but  little. 


318  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

parallel  qnestion  in  regard  to  public  worship,  we  shall  find  that 
the  answer  to  this  query  is  twofold :  both  external  causes  and 
the  functions  actually  performed  by  prayer  must  be  taken 
into  consideration.  The  great  external  cause  of  prayer  is,  of 
course,  the  instruction  which  children  receive  and  the  example 
of  others  which  they  follow.  Prayer  begins  in  childhood  as  a 
matter  of  obedience  and  is  continued  for  many  years  through 
the  force  of  habit.  But  while  some  individuals  keep  it  up 
through  life  only  because  of  physical  inertia,  probably  the  great 
majority  of  people,  when  they  reach  late  adolescence,  either  give 
it  up  altogether  or  continue  to  pray  not  only  because  of  habit, 
but  also  because  they  believe  it  to  be  helpful  and  because  at 
times  they  cannot  help  praying.  Thus  the  prayers  of  praying 
people  in  their  mature  years  are  of  two  sorts ;  prayers  which 
they  ^'  say  ''  (largely  from  habit),  and  real  prayers.  If  I  may 
tu;st  the  evidence  of  the  respondents  to  a  questionnaire  of  mine, 
issued  a  few  years  ago,  habit  plays  no  large  part  in  the  prayers 
of  mature  life,^®  the  explanation  of  the  prayers  of  the  great 
majority  being  found  in  two  common  responses,  which  are  made 
repeatedly ;  "  I  pray  because  I  can't  help  it,"  and  "  I  pray  be- 
cause God  hears/'  ^^ 

18  Only  five  out  of  185  mentioned  habit  as  the  predominant  factor  in 
their  prayers.  Similarly  2  per  cent,  of  Beck's  respondents  pray  from 
habit,  98  per  cent,  because  they  "  feel  the  need  of  prayer." 

19  The  chanpe  of  feeling  about  prayer,  its  nature  and  value,  which  com- 
monly takes  place  as  the  child  develops  into  the  adolescent  is  fairly  well 
represented  in  the  following  reply  of  one  of  my  respondents:  "As  a  child 
I  prayed  as  a  duty:  I  must.  I  had  certitude  of  God's  presence  and  help 
because  instructed  so  by  parents.  Prayer  now,  therefore,  means  more  and 
less."  The  sense,  however,  in  which  prayer  means  more  than  it  did  in 
childhood  is  of  far  greater  importance  than  that  in  which  it  means  less; 
and  I  find  twent}-five  out  of  the  thirty-two  who  answered  my  question 
upon  this  subject  insisting  that  prayer  means  much  more  to  them  than 
it  did  in  childhood.  Of  the  seven  others,  five  reply  that  prayer  to  them 
means  neither  less  nor  more  than  formerly,  while  only  two  (and  these  both 
under  twenty-seven)  say  that  it  meant  more  to  them  in  childhood  than  it 
does  now.  It  may  be  of  interest  to  note  some  of  the  things  in  respect  to 
which  the  prayers  of  my  respondents  have  changed  as  they  have  grown 
older:  and  I  here  jot  them  down  in  abbreviated  form  for  the  benefit  of  any 
who  may  care  to  read :  development  of  prayer  from  habit  to  a  real  source  of 
strength;  more  universal  things  asked  for;  greater  earnestness;  greater 
desire  to  pray;  more  confidence  in  answer  to  prayer;  greater  realization  of 
the  limitations  of  prayer  and  fewer  things,  consequently,  asked  for;  com- 
munion substituted  for   petition;   need  substituted  for  duty;   shorter  and 


PRAYER  AND  PRIVATE  WORSHIP  319 

People  who  can  help  praying  and  who  do  not  believe  that 
God  hears,  are  likely  to  stop  praying.  Morse  and  Allan  report 
that  of  their  twenty-four  respondents  who  had  ceased  to  pray, 
^ve  stopped  praying  because  of  "  negligence  or  indifference/' 
nineteer  because  of  ^'  disbelief  in  the  power  of  prayer."  ^^ 
Perhaps  twenty  influences  are  named  by  my  respondents  which 
in  their  experience  have  made  prayer  difficult  or  impossible, 
but  they  all  may  be  reduced  to  the  following  three:  (1)  ill 
health,  or  exhaustion;  (2)  the  sense  of  sin;  (3)  discouragement 
and  skepticism.  The  last  of  the  three  is  probably  the  one 
most  commonly  at  work  during  the  adolescent  period.  Seventy- 
nine  per  cent,  of  Morse  and  Allan's  respondents  who  had  ceased 
to  pray  had  done  so  because  of  their  disbelief  in  the  efficacy 
of  prayer. ^^  One- third  of  my  respondents  testify  that  there 
have  been  times  in  their  lives  when  they  were  convinced  that 
prayer  was  useless,  and  in  all  of  these  cases  this  conviction  was 
dated  somewhere  between  the  thirteenth  and  the  twentv-first 
years.  The  cause  of  it  is  regularly  some  form  of  adolescent 
doubt,^^  either  as  to  the  existence  or  nature  of  God,  or  as  to 
the  reasonableness  of  prayer,  and  this  skeptical  view  in  many 
cases  has  its  source  in  some  antiquated  teaching  as  to  the  nature 
of  God  or  the  purpose  of  prayer.  ^^  Another  of  the  causes 
referred  to  above  for  the  abandonment  of  prayer  has  its  source 
also  largely  in  theological  teachings  which  should  long  ago 
have  been  outgrown.  I  refer  to  the  sense  of  sin.  And  by  this 
I  do  not  mean  actual  sin,  but  the  feeling  of  guilt,  often  of  the 
Bunyan  type,  which  makes  the  young  man  or  woman  regard 
himself  as  "  lost "  and  too  vile  to  come  into  the  divine 
presence.  ^^ 

less  formal  prayers.  Sixty-six  per  cent,  of  my  respondents  pray  more  than 
they  did  as  children,  twenty  per  cent,  pray  less,  and  fourteen  per  cent, 
neither  less  nor  more.  Beck's  figures  are  interesting  in  this  connection: 
sixty-eight  per  cent,  of  his  respondents  prayed  more,  eight  per  cent,  less,  and 
twenty  per  cent,  neither  less  nor  more.  What  the  remaining  four  per  cent, 
do  we  are  not  informed. 

20  Op.  cit.,  p.  180. 

21  Op.  cit.,  p.  184.     It  must  be  remembered  that  all  of  Morse  and  Allan's 
respondents  were  adolescents. 

22  This   of  course  does   not   necessarily   imply   a  period  of  distress   and 
emotional  doubt. 

23  In  the  case  of  at  least  ten  of  my  respondents  the  practice  of  prayer 
was  abandoned  because  of  some  such  unfortunate  instruction. 

24  This  had  been  the  case  with  twenty  of  my  respondents. 


320  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

Skoptioism  and  the  sense  of  sin  are  the  chief  obstacles  to 
prayer  during  the  adolescent  years.  In  mature  life  the  leading 
deterrent  seems  io  be  nerve  fatic^ie,  exhaustion,  and  ill  health 
of  body  and  of  mind.  Confidence  in  the  spiritual  forces  of  the 
universe  and  love  for  them  is  one  of  the  chief  factors  in  earnest 
prayer,  hence  anythini!:  that  tends  to  make  affection  less  warm 
and  the  emotional  life  less  strong  tends  to  weaken  prayer. 
Most  people  feel  more  affectionate  when  well  and  happy  and 
less  so  when  tired  and  ill,  and  these  conditions  can  hardlv  fail 
to  have  their  effect  upon  prayer.  ''  I  have  done  my  best  pray- 
ing when  in  health,''  writes  one  woman.  "  My  long  severe 
illness  left  me  too  weak  and  full  of  pain  to  make  the  exertion 
required  to  make  earnest  prayer.  In  greatest  pain  I  am  pas- 
sive." "  WTien  very  tired  at  night,"  writes  another,  "  it  is 
hard  to  pray  earnestly  —  it  seems  a  matter  of  form."  "  When 
I  am  in  good  health  and  have  much  to  be  thankful  for  I  feel 
like  praying.  I  simply  have  to  thank  God  for  all  the  good 
things  He  gives."  Some  people,  to  be  sure,  pray  most  when 
in  ill  health,  but  the  prayers  made  at  such  times  seem  to  have, 
relatively,  but  little  zest.  '^  I  think  I  pray  more  in  poor 
health,"  writes  one  respondent,  "  perhaps  a  groaning  prayer."  ^^ 

It  goes  without  saying  (yet  here  pro  forma  it  must  be  said) 
that  one  of  the  great  reasons  why  adolescents  and  adults  con- 
tinue to  pray  is  because  they  have  needs,  and  they  either  be- 
lieve that  prayer  will  aid  them  to  get  what  they  need,  or  else 
they  simply  cannot  help  expressing  their  needs  in  some  kind 
of  prayer  form  —  if  it  be  but  an  ejaculation  —  quite  regard- 
less of  theory.  Petitional  prayer  is  of  course  not  the  only 
kind,  but  it  was  the  original  form  of  prayer  and  it  still  is 

25  The  whole  question  of  the  conditions  of  real  as  opposed  to  merely 
verbal  prayer,  and  to  the  methods  best  adapted  to  produce  a  kind  of 
prayer  that  shall  be  unquestionably  worth  while,  is  worthy  of  careful 
investigation.  It  is  not  a  subject  upon  which  the  usual  questionnaire 
method  would  be  of  much  value  unless  the  respondents  were  carefully 
chosen  from  the  rather  small  class  of  virtuosos  in  prayer  —  if  such  a  phrase 
may  be  permitted.  Most  of  us  know  a  few  men  and  women  who  seem  to 
have  [^reat  '*  power  in  prayer,"  and  in  whose  lives  prayer  is  unquestionably 
a  source  of  genuine  efficiency.  If  a  fair  number  of  such  persons  could  be 
induced  to  analyze  their  psychological  methods  and  their  experience  in 
prayer,  the  results  might  be  very  enlightening.  For  an  admirable  discus- 
sion of  this  question  see  Eleanor  Rowland's  "The  Right  to  Believe"  (Bos- 
ton, Houghton,  Mifflin:   1909),  Chap.  VI. 


PRAYER  A:^D  private  WORSHIP  321 

and  very  likely  always  will  be  an  important  form, —  for 
many  people  probably  almost  the  only  conceivable  form.  Out 
of  sixty-five  respondents  who  answered  my  question  concerning 
the  nature  of  their  prayers,  forty-two  described  them  as  "  con- 
sisting largely  of  petitions,"  the  twenty-three  others  saying  that 
petition  was  in  their  prayers  a  very  subordinate  matter.  It  is 
interesting  in  this  connection  to  note  that  seventeen  of  my  re- 
spondents believe  God's  actions  are  changed  by  their  prayers 
as  against  twenty-six  who  feel  sure  that  this  is  not  the  case. 
A  comparison  of  the  different  answers  shows  that  about  half 
of  those  who  believe  that  God's  actions  are  in  no  way  affected 
by  their  prayers  continue  to  make  prayers  which  are  "  largely 
petitions,"  either  because  the  felt  need  is  so  strong  that  it 
breaks  forth  into  words  regardless  of  all  theory,  or  because 
(in  rare  cases)  the  benefit  experienced  from  the  formulation 
of  one's  desires  is  too  great  to  be  dispensed  with.  In  the  words 
of  Emerson,  "  What  we  pray  to  ourselves  for  is  always 
granted."  ^^ 

As  to  the  content  of  petitional  prayer,  it  seems  plain  that 
among  the  more  intelligent  appeals  for  ^'  spiritual  blessings " 
largely  predominate,  and  that  "  material  blessings  "  and  par- 
ticular ends  play  a  relatively  subordinate  role.  An  exception, 
indeed,  must  be  made  to  this  for  times  of  crisis,  such  as  grief, 
danger,  etc. ;  for  then  the  strong  wish  within  the  mind  will 
force  itself  into  the  form  of  a  prayer,  if  the  individual  is  in 
the  habit  of  praying  at  all.  But  at  normal  times  the  blessings 
asked  for  seem  to  be  chiefly  of  a  general  and  "  spiritual  sort." 
Only  thirty-four  of  Morse  and  Allan's  one  hundred  and  twenty- 
six  college  students  prayed  for  "  definite  and  temporary  ends." 
Seventy-three  per  cent,  of  Beck's  respondents  characterized  their 
prayers  as  "  prayers  for  spiritual  blessings,  i.  e.  for  better  dis- 
position, firmer  resolution,  and  redeemed  inward  nature." 
Seventy-five  per  cent,  of  them  considered  it  a  mistake  to  pray 
for  a  change  in  the  weather ;  and  twenty-nine  out  of  ninety-three 
of  my  respondents  state  specifically  that  there  are  things  for 
which  they  would  not  pray,  several  others  implying  the  same 
thing.     The   tendency   to   limit   petitional   prayer    in   normal 

26  The  mental  attitude  of  those  holding  these  diverse  views  about  prayer 
is  illustrated  by  citations  from  their  responses  in  ray  article,  "  An  Em- 
pirical Study  of  Prayer  "  (Am.  Jour,  of  Rel.  Psy.,  IV,  esp.  pp.  50-51). 


322  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

times  to  general  and  spiritual  ends  is  probably  on  the  increase, 
as  the  belief  in  the  invariability  of  natural  law  spreads  through- 
out the  community.^^  Yet  it  must  not  be  supposed  that  the 
belief  in  and  the  practice  of  praying  for  almost  anything  and 
everything  has  been  by  any  means  universally  given  up.  Over 
half  my  respondents  believe  in  praying  for  pretty  much  every- 
thing one  wants, —  evil  things,  of  course  excepted.  The  Mes- 
senfjcr  of  the  Sacred  Heart  publishes  monthly  a  list  of 
"  Thanksgivings  "  for  various  favors  and  answers  to  prayer 
sent  in  by  good  Catholics  from  all  parts  of  the  United  States. 
The  list  includes  such  things  as  recovery  from  various  illnesses, 
marriage,  ''  a  successful  party,"  ''  increase  of  salary,"  "  cow 
recovered,"  "  five  deals  made,"  *'  preserved  from  active  duty," 
etc.,  etc.  The  Messenger  for  August,  1019,  announces,  ^^  Total 
number  of  Thanksgivings  for  the  month,  4,876,932."  The 
"  Pittsburgh  Bible  Institute  "  conducts  a  daily  prayer  meeting 
the  purpose  of  which  is  to  concentrate  the  prayers  of  a  number 
of  godly  persons  upon  various  petitions,  which  are  sent  in  to 
them  from  all  over  the  world  with  a  request  for  their  prayer. 
These  petitions  are  systematically  recorded  and  numbered,  and 
those  answered  are  regularly  announced  in  the  semi-annual  pub- 
lication of  the   Institute.     In   August,   1919,   the  number  of 

27  The  feeling  that  there  are  things  for  which  one  should  not  pray  ia 
not  very  old.  In  an  oft  quoted  passage,  Emerson  refers,  on  the  authority 
of  Ezra  Ripley,  to  a  minister  of  Sudbury  "  who  being  at  the  Thursday 
lecture  in  Boston,  heard  the  officiating  clergyman  praying  for  rain.  As 
soon  as  the  service  was  over,  he  went  to  the  petitioner  and  said,  *  You 
Boston  ministers,  as  soon  as  the  tulip  wilts  under  your  windows,  go  to 
church  and  pray  for  rain,  until  all  Concord  and  Sudbury  are  under 
water'"  (Letturcs  and  Biographical  Sketches.  Boston,  Houghton,  Mif- 
flin: 1891,  p.  3G3).  Nor  are  the  prayers  of  the  fervent  limited  to  things 
like  the  weather.  A  rather  dreadful  instance  of  what  prayer  may  be  used 
for  is  to  be  found  in  Maitland's  "  Life  of  Anna  Kingsford."  She  was,  at 
one  time,  greatly  opposed  to  vivisection  and  was  especially  wrought  up 
against  Claude  Bernard,  the  distinguished  French  physiologist,  as  one  of 
the  leaders  of  it.  She  felt,  in  fact,  it  would  be  well  if  the  earth  could  be 
rid  of  him.  Hence  "  with  passionate  energy  she  invoked  the  wrath  of  God 
upon  him,  at  the  same  time  hurling  her  whole  spiritual  being  at  him  with 
all  her  might,  as  if  with  intent  to  smite  him  then  and  there  with  de- 
struction." Claude  Bernard  died  suddenly  soon  after  and  she  considered 
it  a  direct  answer  to  prayer,  saying:  "  It  has  been  strongly  borne  in  upon 
my  mind  that  he  has  indeed  come  to  his  death  through  my  agency." 
Quoted  from  Maitland's  "  Life  of  Anna  Kingsford,"  by  Tuckett,  "  The  Evi- 
dence for  the  Supernatural"   (London,  K.  Paul:   1911),  p.  144. 


PRAYER  AND  PRIVATE  WORSHIP  323 

petitions  thus  presented  in  public  prayer  Lad  reached  nearly 
80,000.  The  blessings  asked  for  are  largely  "  spiritual  "  but 
also  include  such  things  as  passing  examinations,  winning  law- 
suits, the  healing  of  a  sore  finger,  getting  good  servants,  securing 
a  good  tenant,  getting  rid  of  undesirable  boarders,  etc.^^  If  an 
emergency  arises  and  one  is  in  need  of  immediate  help  one  tele- 
phones, and  the  requisite  prayer  is  expedited. ^^ 

The  question  of  the  objective  answer  to  prayer  for  particular 
things  need  not  detain  us  here,^^  the  point  of  chief  interest  with 
us,  who  are  studying  the  religious  consciousness,  being  the  fact 
that  very  many  people  believe  firmly  in  such  special  answers 

28  This  belief  in  praying  for  all  sorts  of  personal  benefits  is,  of  course, 
quite  as  common  among  European  Catholics  as  among  American  Catholics 
and  Protestants.  The  walls  and  columns  of  the  church  of  Notre  Dame 
de  Lourdes,  for  example,  are  silent  witnesses  to  this  belief,  covered  as 
they  are  with  chiselled  inscriptions  of  prayer  or  of  thankfulness  for  an- 
swered prayers  of  this  special  sort.  The  following  examples  taken  almost 
at  random  from  scores,  are  typical: 

"  Notre  Dame  de  Lourdes,  benissez  notre  union.  Protegez  notre  famille 
et  donnez  nous  le  travail  dans  notre  commerce." 

"  A  notre  Dame  de  Lourdes  temoignage  de  profonde  reconnaisance  offert 
par  la  famille  B  de  Constantinople  comblee  de  bienfaits  par  le  gain  d'un 
important  proces  recommand^  a  son  intervention." 

29  A  lady  in  Pittsburgh  recently  diverted  a  fire  from  her  house  in  this 
way,  it  being  sent  (in  answer  to  prayer)  in  another  direction.  See  "The 
Record  of  Faith"  (Pittsburgh),  V,  64. —  Confidence  in  the  almost  mechan- 
ical action  of  prayer  is  not  confined  to  Catholics  and  "  evangelicals." 
Many  of  the  "  New  Thought  "  groups  have  quite  as  firm  a  faith  in  the 
efficacy  of  prayer  as  has  the  Pittsburgh  Bible  Institute.  One  of  these 
groups  whose  headquarters  is  in  Kansas  possesses  a  prayer-organization 
similar  to  that  in  Pittsburgh.  A  case  has  recently  come  to  my  knowl- 
edge in  which  one  of  its  members  made  use  of  its  advantages  in  a  way  not 
mentioned  even  in  the  "Messenger  of  the  Sacred  Heart"  or  the  Bible 
Institute's  "  Record  of  Faith."  The  member  in  question  is  a  lady  of 
wealth  and  culture  and  of  high  social  standing.  She  was  spending  the 
winter  of  1917  in  Washington,  and  had  planned  to  give  a  large  reception, 
but  when  the  day  arrived  found  it  almost  impossible  to  carry  out  her 
plans  because  of  an  extremely  bad  cold  in  her  head.  Fortunately  at  11 
A,  M.  she  remembered  her  principles  and  telegraphed  to  the  Kansas  prayer 
center.  By  two  in  the  afternoon  her  nose  had  ceased  running  and  she  waa 
able  to  receive  her  guests  without  the  aid  of  endless  handkerchiefs. 

30  The  reader  will  find  a  discussion  of  this  subject  in  the  article  of  mine 
already  referred  to,  "An  Empirical  Study  of  Prayer,"  pp.  53-61.  I  might 
note  here  that  sixty  out  of  ninety  of  my  respondents  both  believe  in  spe- 
cial answer  to  prayer  and  are  convinced  that  they  have  had  such  answers 
in  their  own  experience.  See  also  Chapters  IV  and  V  of  Dr.  Stolz's  mono- 
graph. 


324  THE  lU^LIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

and  til  at  this  is  one  of  the  great  reasons  why  they  pray.  Most 
religious  people,  however,  would  pretty  eertainly  eontinue  to 
pray  even  if  they  lost  all  faith  in  speeial  answers.  This  is 
shown  by  the  fact  that  a  very  large  number  of  religious  people 
no  longer  cherish  that  faith  yet  continue  to  pray  (and  not 
merely  out  of  habit),  and  by  the  further  fact  that  most  even  of 
those  who  retain  the  belief  in  question  find  in  prayer  something 
,  of  very  much  greater  value  than  an  easy  means  of  satisfying 
particular  wants.  For  there  are  other  kinds  of  prayer  beside 
the  habitual  and  the  petitional.  Intense  joy  and  thankfulness, 
for  example,  express  themselves  as  naturally,  and  for  some  per- 
sons as  inevitably,  in  prayer,  as  does  the  sense  of  crying  need.'^ 
Such  an  expression  of  thankfulness,  which  does  not  ask  for 
anything  but  simply  longs  somehow  to  get  into  communication 
with  the  great  source  from  which  "  all  blessings  flow  "  is  in- 
cipiently  a  '^  prayer  of  communion."  If  all  prayers  were  clas- 
sified into  two  or  three  leading  types,  the  "  prayer  of  com- 
munion," in  which  the  presence  of  a  higher  Power  is  felt, 
would  have  to  be  made  one  of  the  chief  subdivisions.  How 
generally  this  tyye  of  prayer  is  shared  in  the  community  it 
would,  of  course,  be  impossible  to  say.  Seventy  per  cent  of 
Beck's  respondents  feel  the  presence  of  a  higher  power  while 
in  prayer,  and  sixty-five  per  cent  of  mine  (110  out  of  170) 
testify  to  the  same  thing.  By  no  means  so  large  a  percentage 
of  the  adolescents  who  answered  Morse  and  Allan's  question- 
naire claim  to  have  had  this  experience;^-  but  the  difference 
may  be  in  part  due  to  the  difference  in  age.  While  many  good 
people  who  regularly  pray  know  little  or  nothing  of  this  ex- 
perience, there  can  be  no  doubt  that  it,  or  something  sufficiently 
like  it  to  go  by  the  same  general  name,  is  the  leading  charac- 
teristic of  the  prayers  of  nearly  all  more  deeply  religious  per- 
sons. 

The  experience  known  as  communion  with  God  is  one  of  the 
most  interesting  things  in  the  psychology  of  religion.^^     So  far 

31  Seven  of  Morse  and  Allan's  respondents  say  that  one  reason  why  they 
pray  is  because  prayer  "  is  a  way  to  glorify  God."  This  is  another  illus- 
tration of  what,  in  our  last  chapter,  was  called  "  objective  w^orship." 

82  Only  forty-five  out  of  one  hundred  and  twenty-six  said  they  had  a 
sense  of  communion ;  thirty-nine  answering  *'  No "  to  the  question,  and 
forty-two  giving  no  answer  at  all. 

33  An  analysis  of  this  experience  is  to  be  found  in  W.  S.  Ranson's  "  Stud- 


PKAYER  AND  PRIVATE  WORSHIP  325 

at  least  as  I  can  judge,  it  is  neither  negative  in  its  nature  nor 
purely  imitative  in  its  origin.  It  is  a  very  positive  —  some- 
times almost  a  violent  —  experience.  It  is  indigenous  to  every 
religion  and  to  every  social  class,  and  seems  to  arise  spontane- 
ously among  all  sorts  and  conditions  of  men.  Of  course,  like 
most  other  things  which  are  worth  cultivation  and  imitation, 
it  is  often  transplanted  by  deliberate  effort  into  lives  which, 
but  for  the  effort,  would  never  have  known  it.  Described,  as 
it  always  is,  in  glowing  terms  by  those  who  have  experienced  it 
in  its  freshness,  it  has  become  a  thing  to  be  desired,  and  its 
nurture  is  inculcated  as  a  duty,  and  its  appearance  watched  for. 
Many  a  good  man  to  whom  it  is  native  in  only  slight  degree 
longs  for  it,  expects  it,  and  at  length  persuades  himself  that  he 
too  has  felt  it.  Thus  it  has  come  as  near  to  being  a  social  con- 
vention as  so  purely  private  and  personal  an  experience  can 
come  to  be.  And  as,  in  its  induced  and  cultivated  form,  it  con- 
tains so  large  an  element  of  imitation  and  auto-suggestion,  the  ^ 
temptation  to  the  psychologist  is  strong  to  explain  it  all  by 
means  of  those  light-bringing  terms. 

•^This  imitative  element  does  beyond  all  doubt  explain  a  good 
deal  of  the  "  sense  of  communion ''  in  the  case  of  many  of  my 
one  hundred  and  ten  respondents  who  testify  to  having  felt  it. 
This  is  shown  by  some  of  their  answers  to  the  following  ques- 
tion :  "  In  praying  do  you  consider  that  you  are  communing 
with  the  Being  to  whom  you  pray?  Is  there  any  evidence  of 
this  ?  If  so,  what  ? ''  I  shall  set  down  some  of  the  answers ; 
"  I  endeavor  to  do  so.  At  times  a  certain  awe  and  quietness 
not  felt  at  other  times."  "  I  consider  so,  but  can  give  no 
evidence."  "  At  times  it  seems  as  if  God  is  very  near,  but 
more  often  there  is  an  absence  of  that  quickening  of  the  heart 
one  has  when  talking  to  one  he  loves."  "  Yes,  to  a  slight  ex- 
tent. No  evidence  except  my  own  feelings  or  rather  faith." 
"  Perhaps  I  do  not  commune  with  Him  directly.  I  try  to  ex- 
clude all  other  thoughts."  "  To  some  extent,  but  it  is  possible 
that  it  is  imagination.     Or  it  may  be  that  my  strong  faith  in 

ies  in  the  Psychology  of  Prayer"  {Am.  Jour,  of  Relig.  Psy.,  I,  129-42). 
Mr.  Ranson  finds  the  essential  elements  of  the  experience  in  the  "  unifica- 
tion of  consciousness  through  sesthetic  contemplation  of  God."  This  is  an 
excellent  description  of  many  cases  of  the  phenomenon,  but  is  hardly  of 
universal  application. 


326  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

a  spiritual  world  may  increase  the  feeling  of  actual  spiritual 


communion." 


In  spite  of  the  imitative  factor  plainly  present  in  all  my  re- 
spondents upon  this  subject  it  is  perfectly  plain  to  me  that 
there  are  other  factors  also  at  work.'*  All  speech  originates 
through  imitation,  yet  all  speech  is  not  imitation.  The  experi- 
ence of  **  communion  "  to  which  my  respondents  testify  doubt- 
less had  its  origin  in  part  through  the  influence  and  example 
of  others ;  but  once  it  comes,  it  is  a  perfectly  real  experience  of 
a  very  definite  sort,  and  by  no  means  merely  an  imagination 
or  a  form  of  pious  words.  And  when  we  turn  from  my  very 
humble  and  commonplace  respondents  to  the  saints  and  mystics, 
we  shall  of  course  find  the  spontaneous  element  of  this  ex- 
perience amply  verified.  This,  however,  is  a  question  which 
belongs  not  here  but  in  the  consideration  of  mysticism. 

Prayer  of  the  "  communion  "  type  often  presents  itself  un- 
der the  form  of  an  incipient  conversation.  The  individual 
pra}dng  talks  to  the  Great  Listener  and  feels  at  times  some 
faint  suggestion  of  a  response.  That  prayer  should  be  of  this 
conversational  nature  is  not  surprising;  for,  as  Cooley  has  so 
well  pointed  out,  ''  the  mind  lives  in  perpetual  conversation."  *' 
In  the  prayerful  individual  this  universal  tendency  to  talk 
to  oneself  is  modified  into  a  longing  to  talk  with  God.  And, 
as  I  have  indicated,  for  the  more  mystically  minded,  the  result 
may  be  not  a  monologue  but  something  like  a  conversation. 
The  spiritual  directors  of  the  Catholic  Church  often  make  a 
point  of  instilling  this  conception  of  prayer  as  an  ideal  upon 
their  pupils.^®     And  many  a  soul  not  mystic  enough  to  catch 

8*  This  subject  will  be  dealt  with  at  greater  length  in  the  chapters  on 
mysticism. 

85  "  Human  Nature  and  the  Social  Order,"  p.  54, 

88 "  La  forme  concrete,  vivante,  que  doit  prendre  le  recueillement  en 
general,  mais  que  doit  r^vetir  surtout  le  receueillement  que  nous  descrivona 
ici,  c'est  la  forme  d'un  entretien  avec  Dieu.  Or,  dans  un  certain  entre- 
tien,  la  parole  n'est  pas  toujours  a  la  meme  personne:  chacun  des  inter- 
locuteurs  doit  parler  d.  son  tour,  Savoir  parler  et  savoir  6couter  sont 
deux  preceptes  de  la  conversation  4galement  importants.  Eh  bien,  n'arrive- 
t-il  pas,  dans  nos  entretiens  avec  Dieu,  que  nous  laissions  dans  Toubli  I'un 
de  ces  preceptes?  Et  lequel?  Ce  n'est  certes  pas  celui  qui  nous  autorise 
ft  parler:  nous  parlous  assez,  nous  parlons  meme  souvent  beaucoup  trop. 
Mais  ^coutons-nous  suflBsament  Dieu  qui  parle?  N'6touflfons-nous  pas  sa 
voix  par  nos  interruptions  indiscretes,  par  un  flux  de  paroles  qui  absorb© 


PKAYER  AND  PRIVATE  WORSHIP  327 

God^s  response,  finds  in  the  mere  confession  of  his  sins  and 
needs  and  longings  a  kind  of  peace  that  comes  in  no  other 
way.  Here,  indeed,  is  one  of  the  great  pragmatic  values  of 
the  God-idea.  For  many  a  man  God  is  not  so  much  Creator 
or  Giver  of  specific  things,  as  the  Great  Confessor,  He  who 
sees  us  as  we  really  are,  and  with  whom  alone  of  all  beings 
we  may  be  utterly  frank.  The  need  of  confession,  of  pouring 
out  all  that  is  most  pressing  in  one's  mind,  is  with  impulsive 
temperaments  almost  universal,  and  prayer  is  the  great  outlet 
for  this  urgent  longing. 

With  temperaments  of  the  more  philosophic  type,  the  prayer 
of  communion  takes  on  a  more  cosmic  aspect.  It  is  the  moment 
of  larger  views,  the  vision  of  the  Whole  of  things  in  their  cosmic 
setting,  the  means  of  gaining  the  true  perspective  in  which 
small  things  that  had  loomed  large  resume  their  appropriate 
and  petty  place,  and  hence  it  is  a  way  of  liberation  from  the 
tyranny  of  little  worries.  With  the  more  mystical,  it  is  a  con- 
scious union  with  the  All.^"^  In  Professor  Hocking's  phrase,  it 
is  the  recovery  of  the  "  natural  vigor  of  the  whole-idea."  It 
is  an  act  by  which  we  free  ourselves,  moreover,  not  merely 
from  worries  but  from  the  many-sided  provincialisms  which 
practical  life  and  social  life  force  upon  us.  Thus  it  is  a  win- 
ning at  length  to  the  purity  of  selfhood.  "  We  must,"  writes 
Hocking,  "  know  how  to  shake  off  the  prepossessions  of  our  the- 
oretic wills ;  to  regard  all  ambitions  and  duties  for  the  time  as 
non-existent;  to  reduce  all  reality  to  the  primitive  terms  of 
self,  universe,  and  the  present  moment  (wherein  everything  be- 
gins from  the  beginning).  In  this  stark,  original  selfhood, 
detached  from  action  and  from  the  warping  of  the  interests  of 
action,  we  view  all  that  active  career  as  in  a  drama,  as  the 
life  of  another,  in  the  light  of  what  we  can  then  and  there  mus- 

notre  attention  au  point  de  nous  rendre  sourds  a  la  parole  divine?  Cette 
surdity  n'est-elle  pas  meme  chez  nous  ft  I'etat  chronique?  Soupgonnons- 
nous  seulement  que  Dieu  ait  sa  fagon  de  parler  a  I'ame?  Comme  son  lan- 
guage, dit  Courbon,  est  tout  spirituel,  int^rieur  et  sans  bruit,  il  n'y  a  que 
ceux  qui  sont  fideles  d.  I'ecouter  qui  ont  le  bonheur  d'entendre  cette  divine 
voix  quoiqu'il  parle  a  tons  et  qu'il  frappe  souvent  ft  la  porte  de  noa 
coeurs."     (Lejeune,  "Introduction  a  la  Vie  Mystique,"  pp.  127-28.) 

87  This  is  the  type  of  prayer  which  Miss  Strong  calls  the  "  ffisthetic  " — 
one  of  the  two  tendencies  in  the  "  completely  social  type  "  of  prayer.  See 
Chap.  V  of  her  "  Psychology  of  Prayer  "  (Chicago  University  Press:  1909). 


328  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

ter  of  the  whole.  Its  loves  and  hates  rise  up  before  us  in  a 
more  universal  frame.  We  must  recall  especially  whatever 
is  still  to  us  of  effortless  value,  whatever  we  do  still  sincerely 
enjoy  and  love,  and  we  must  pray  for  the  vision  of  the  whole 
of  which  these  various  goods  are  fragments,  and  upon  which 
they  depend  as  their  absolute.  I  use  the  word  ^  pray/  because, 
in  the  end,  there  is  no  other  word  which  conveys  that  attitude 
of  will  in  which  effort  is  so  combined  with  non-effort,  and  self 
assertion  with  consciousness  of  absolute  dependence.  Nor  do 
I  know  why  this  word  should  be  translated  into  anything  more 
scholastic.  The  insight  we  require  is  both  a  right  and  a  gift, 
the  justest  gift  in  all  experience;  we  dare  not  be  too  proud  to 
comply  with  its  evident  conditions.  We  must  know  that  in 
doing  these  things,  we  are  already  using  a  degree  of  mystic 
insight ;  we  are  relying  upon  an  attachment  to  the  whole  which 
is  too  deep  in  us  to  be  lost  or  overcome ;  we  are  striving  to  ^  enter 
into  ourselves,'  to  recognize  this  attachment  for  what  it  is,  the 
love  of  the  God  of  that  alienated  world.     This  is  prayer."  ^® 

An  experience  and  an  activity  such  as  is  suggested  here  is 
plainly  a  very  different  thing  from  the  prayer  which  one 
"  says."  It  is  not  a  petition  for  anything  at  all,  nor  can  it 
even  fairly  be  classed  as  in  any  ordinary  sense  a  conversation. 
As  Frederic  Meyers  put  it,  ''  If  we  ask  to  whom  to  pray,  the  ' 
answer  (strangely  enough)  must  be  that  that  does  not  much 
matter."  ^®  Nor  need  a  prayer  of  this  sort  have  anything  to 
do  with  w^ords.  St.  Frangois  de  Sales  compares  the  prayer 
of  the  mystic  to  the  communion  of  lovers.  "  Love  speaks  not 
merely  by  the  tongue,  but  by  the  eyes,  the  posture,  the  sighs; 
yes  even  silence  takes  the  place  of  words."  ^^  And  many  a 
Catholic  director  recommends  this  wordless  prayer,  which  is 
called  ''  coUoque  de  silence/* 

It  is  evident  that  prayer  of  the  sort  we  have  been  describing 
shades  off  imperceptibly  into  mysticism  on  the  one  hand,  and 
into  a  kind  of  meditation  and  self-realization  on  the  other. 
To  mysticism  we  shall  revert  in  the  following  chapters,  but  a 
word  must  here  be  said  concerning  the  kind  of  contemplation 

38 "  The   Meaning   of    God    in    Human    Experience"    (New   Haven,    Yale 
University  Frees:   1912),  pp.  438-30. 

30  Quoted  in  James's  "  Varieties,"  p.  467. 
*o  Quoted  by  Lejeune,  op.  cit.,  p.  133. 


PKAYER  A:N"D  private  WORSHIP  329 

which  is  midway  between  prayer  and  self -analysis  or  philosophic 
thought.  Intense  spiritual  aspiration,  the  emotional  contempla- 
tion of  an  ideal,  is  a  kind  of  prayer.  ^^  Prayers,"  says  Stanley 
Hall,  "  are  paraligms  of  aspiration  for  the  higher  life  and  for 
unity  with  the  great  all."  ^^  Another  illustration  of  what  I 
have  here  in  mind  will  be  found  in  the  following  citation  from 
Dr.  Cabot's  ^^  What  Men  Live  By."  "  We  often  advise  each 
other  to  think  it  over  and  see  what  on  the  whole  seems  best ;  or 
we  say,  ^  All  things  considered j  1  have  decided  to  go.'  Anyone 
who  did  this  would  be  near  to  prayer.  .  .  .  ^  Considering  all 
things '  is  turning  from  part  to  whole,  from  brilliant  near-seen 
views,  all  foreground,  no  perspective,  to  a  vision  like  that  from 
a  mountain  top.  Whoever  tries  to  ^  see  life  steadily  and  see  it 
whole,'  by  retiring  to  a  viewpoint  detached  from  the  current 
quotations  and  the  latest  news,  has  moved  in  the  direction  of 
prayer."  ^^ 

It  was  largely  this  process  of  meditative  self-realization  that 
the  Stoic  philosophers  meant  by  prayer.  "  When  you  happen 
to  be  ruffled  a  little  by  any  outward  accident,"  wrote  Marcus 
Aurelius,  "  retire  immediately  into  your  reason,  and  do  not 
move  out  of  tune  any  further  than  needs  must;  for  the  sooner 
you  return  to  harmony,  the  more  you  will  get  it  into  your  own 
power."  *^  Professor  Segond,  who  in  his  learned  work  "  La 
Priere "  seems  to  identify  prayer  as  such  with  this  inward- 
turning  self-realization  (with,  to  be  sure,  a  certain  mystic 
tinge),  connects  the  experience  with  coensesthesia  and  the  feel- 
ing of  the  bodilv  rhvthms.  Self -concentration  of  the  sort  found 
in  prayer  —  "^  de  rentrer  en  soi,"  "  de  prendre  conscience  de 
soi  "  —  he  therefore  identifies  with  the  fading  away  of  external 
and  practical  considerations  and  the  "  evaporating  of  the  in- 
dividuality." ^^  But  while  this  is  a  true  description  of  the 
experience  of  some,  it  will  hardly  hold  for  all.     It  is  doubtless 

*i "  Educational  Problems,"  Vol.  I,  p.  145. 

42  "What  Men  Live  By"  (Boston,  Houghton,  Mifflin:  1914),  pp.  275- 
76.  An  admirable  and  extensive  discussion  of  prayer  from  this  point  of 
view  will  be  found  in  Drake's  "  Problems  of  Religions  "  ( Boston,  Hough- 
ton, Mifflin:  1916),  Chap.  XII. 

43 '«  Meditations,"  translated  by  Jeremy  Collier  (London,  Scott),  Bk.  VI, 
11   (p.  86). 

44  Op.  cit.,  pp.  70-82. 


330  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

true  that  psychological  analysis  will  find  ca?n8esthesia  in  the 
content  of  the  prayer-oxpcrioncc,  but  this  fact  should  not  be  re- 
garded as  over  important  or  illuminating.  And  while  it  is  also 
true  that  in  certain  types  of  ecstatic  mysticism  the  individu- 
ality tends  to  evaporate,  the  chief  characteristic  of  prayer  as 
self-realization  lies  in  the  fact  that  it  is  an  attempt  to  find  more 
and  more  explicitly  just  what  one's  true  individuality  really  is 
and  what  is  involved  in  it.  "  The  simplest  rational  account  of 
prayer,"  writes  Hocking,  "  would  probably  be  this:  a  voluntary 
recollection  of  those  deepest  principles  of  will,  or  preference, 
which  the  activities  of  livini?  tend  to  obscure."  ^'  Professor 
Royce  quotes  from  one  of  his  former  students  the  following 
description  of  what  prayer  means :  "  When  things  are  too 
much  for  me,"  the  student  said,  "  and  I  am  down  on  my  luck, 
and  everything  is  dark,  I  go  alone  by  myself,  and  I  bury  my 
head  in  my  hands,  and  I  think  hard  that  God  must  know  it 
all  and  will  see  how  matters  really  are,  and  understands  me. 
And  so  I  try  to  get  myself  together.  And  that  for  me  is 
prayer."  ^^  One  of  my  former  students  writes  me  as  follows : 
"  It  is  a  good  thing  to  formulate  definitely  one's  desires  and 
ideals,  and  by  examining  into  their  motives  decide  whether  or 
not  they  are  worthy.  In  asking  for  anything  I  always  try  to 
make  up  my  mind  why  I  want  it  and  what  will  be  the  result  of 
my  obtaining  it,  and  in  consequence  prayer  sometimes  leads  me 
to  give  up  cherished  schemes.  My  conception  of  God  is  at 
present  rather  abstract  than  personal,  and  so  my  prayers  are 
not  often  petitions  for  definite  things.  I  incline  to  believe  that 
petitions  do  not  affect  God.  Still  I  think  it  best  to  make  pe- 
titions for  no  other  reason  than  for  the  stimulus  that  they 
give  me  in  the  quest  of  that  for  which  I  have  asked.  Most  of 
my  prayer  is  a  seeking  after  what  is  best  for  me  or  for  others 
and  therefore  to  be  asked  for  and  striven  after.  By  determin- 
ing to  strive  after  it,  I  bring  into  play  a  better  self  within  to 
aid  in  obtaining  it.  .  .  .  For  several  years  before  I  came  to 
the  conception  of  prayer  which  I  now  hold  I  had  convinced  my- 
self of  the  uselessness  of  a  great  deal  of  what  is  called  prayer, 

45  Op.  cit.,  p.  376. 

*«"  Sources   of   Religious   Insight"    (New   York,   Scribner's:    1912),   p. 
133. 


PRAYER  AND  PRIVATE  WORSHIP  331 

though  I  still  clung  to  early  habits  of  formal  petitions,  till, 
when  I  was  about  twenty  or  twenty-one  (three  years  ago)  my 
present  ideas,  which  had  long  been  growing,  were  fairly  well 
formulated  and  I  felt  justified  in  discarding  a  worthless  cus- 
tom. The  subjective  benefits  of  prayer  are  sufficient  to  make  it 
very  much  worth  while.  In  fact,  if  such  earnest  self-examina- 
tion and  meditation  as  I  have  described  is  to  be  considered 
prayer  (and  I  so  consider  it)  it  is  indispensable."  ^'^ 

Cases  such  as  those  just  cited  illustrate  the  obvious  fact  that 
prayer  of  the  sort  we  have  been  discussing  may  be  of  consid- 
erable benefit  in  a  purely  subjective  fashion.  Nor  are  the  sub- 
jective benefits  of  prayer  confined  to  any  one  type.  The  im- 
mediate value  of  the  prayer  of  confession  has  already  been  indi- 
cated :  it  relieves  the  pent-up  feelings,  clarifies  the  conscience, 
and  strengthens  the  will;  and  that  it  does  so  can  no  more  be 
denied  by  the  atheist  than  by  the  believer.  The  fact  that  it 
does  these  things  is  dependent  upon  no  theory,  but  is  a  purely 
empirical  observation.  Its  modus  operandi,  in  fact,  is  con- 
stantly better  understood.  The  methods  used  by  Freud,  Jung, 
Prince,  Sidis,  and  other  psychiatrists,  of  curing  various  psychic 
and  neurotic  disorders  through  the  unearthing  of  some  buried 
psychic  complex,  have  demonstrated  the  great  therapeutic 
value  of  confession.  Further  study  in  recent  years  has,  more- 
over, shown  that  prayer  can  be  of  great  assistance  in  the  heal- 
ing of  disease  not  only  in  the  way  just  indicated  but  also  very 
largely  through  its  power  of  suggestion.  The  value  of  the 
prayer  of  communion  has  been  sung  by  many  a  mystic ;  but  one 
does  not  have  to  go  to  the  mystic  to  hear  its  praises.  So  un- 
mystical  a  psychologist  as  Stanley  Hall  can  write  of  it  as  fol- 
lows :  "  The  culmination  of  prayer  is  psychologically  very 
analogous  in  the  moral  sphere  to  the  hedonic  narcosis  that  Scho- 

*7  In  a  case  that  has  recently  come  to  my  knowledge,  a  man  prayed  for 
light  in  the  midst  of  a  political  crisis  when  his  tired  brain  refused  to  work 
from  the  strain  of  toil  and  worry;  and  in  the  calm  that  succeeded  his 
prayer,  there  came  into  his  mind  a  course  of  action  which,  indeed,  was 
perfectly  resasonabie  (as,  in  fact,  the  successful  issue  showed),  yet  which 
he  might  probably  never  have  thought  of  had  he  not  had  recourse  to 
some  such  mental  sedative  as  prayer.  Mere  meditation  would  not  have 
done  it.  The  religious  element  was  essential,  as  it  brought  the  quiet  con- 
fidence and  reliance  on  a  greater  Power  which  alone  could  disperse  the 
weariness  and  worry. 


332  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

penhauer  ascribes  to  the  moment  of  the  most  intense  aesthetic 
contemplation  with  surcease  of  all  pain.  This  is  why  mystic 
prayer  is  sometimes  so  regenerating.  ^  He  prays  best  who  loves 
best/  and  the  acme  of  the  communion  of  love  is  a  transport 
which  usually  leaves  the  soul  permanently  changed  because 
it  has  been  caught  up  by  the  oversoul  and  received  a  higher 
potentialization.  The  soul  has  reopened  the  original  well- 
spring  of  life  and  perhaps  glimpsed  its  ovtu  final  destiny,  aug- 
mented every  higher  motivation.  This  makes  prayer  the  opener 
of  new  and  higher  ways,  the  purest  psychic  expression  of  the 
evolutionary  push-up  in  us."  *^ 

The  influence  of  prayer  upon  the  general  hedonic  conscious- 
ness is  a  fact  of  almost  universal  observation  among  praying 
people.  It  would  be  safe  to  say  that  there  is  no  other  method 
comparable  to  it,  either  in  simplicity  of  application  or  in  cer- 
tainty of  result,  for  turning  sorrow  into  resignation,  fear  into 
courage,  turmoil  into  peace.  An  example  of  its  power,  given  by 
the  anonymous  author  of  "  An  Aspect  of  Prayer,"  is  worth 
quoting  here : 

"  About  the  age  of  twenty-one  I  was  involved  in  a  set  of  cir- 
cumstances which  seemed  as  if  they  must  inevitably  lead  to 
the  ruin  of  my  career  in  life.  .<  .  .  Thus  it  befell  that  during 
these  years  I  resumed  the  habit  of  regular  prayer.  There  was 
a  certain  blindness  and  despair  about  the  prayer.  I  hoped  for 
little:  I  expected  nothing.  The  circumstances  themselves 
seemed  to  kill  my  faith  in  the  beneficent  ordering  of  nature. 
Yet  I  prayed  despite  it  all, —  mainly,  I  think,  because  it  seemed 
impossible  for  unaided  human  nature  to  surmount  the  difiicul- 
ties  which  faced  me.  But  there  gradually  dawned  upon  me  the 
fact  that  these  prayers,  blind  though  they  were,  were  not  with- 
out avail.  It  is  somewhat  difficult  to  describe  the  actual  na- 
ture of  the  phenomenon, —  for  as  such  it  soon  presented  itself 
to  my  mind,  and  as  such  I  have  since  noted  instances  of  it.  The 
circumstances  of  which  I  have  spoken  tended  to  produce  ex- 
treme mental  depression.  A  cloud  had,  as  it  were,  descended 
on  my  life.  But  I  noticed  that  after  earnest  prayer  this  de- 
pression was  greatly  relieved,  and  at  times  completely  vanished. 

48  "Jesus,  the  Christ,  in  the  Light  of  Psychology"   (New  York,  Double- 
day:  1917),  Vol.  II,  p.  496. 


PRAYER  AND  PRIVATE  WORSHIP  333 

That  which  struck  me  most  with  regard  to  the  phenomenon  was 
its  irrationality.  What  I  mean  is  that  the  relief  was  experi- 
enced again  and  again  without  any  consciousness  of  its  cause. 
I  could  not  attribute  it  to  a  feeling  of  satisfaction  at  having 
performed  a  religious  duty,  for  I  noticed  that  the  relief  came 
in  many  cases  when  no  such  feeling  of  satisfaction  was  or  had 
been  present  in  my  mind.  The  importance  of  the  phenom- 
enon in  respect  to  one's  life  was  such  as  to  lead  me  to  further 
observation  of  it;  and  this  process  of  induction  has  with  me 
extended  over  a  period  of  more  than  twenty  years.  I  am,  of 
course,  well  aware  of  the  tendency  of  the  human  mind  to  fail 
to  notice  negative  instances  in  such  a  process,  and  I  know  how 
peculiarly  one  is  exposed  to  the  temptation  of  ignoring  them 
or  explaining  them  away  in  the  case  of  a  series  of  instances 
when  the  positive  elements  point  to  a  conclusion  such  as  one 
would  desire  to  be  true.  In  my  own  case  this  tendency  is  cor- 
rected by  the  fact  that  a  forced  or  faulty  induction  would  not 
convey  any  comfort  to  me.  In  watching  this  phenomenon 
therefore  I  have  carefully  checked  by  observation,  and  have 
excluded  all  instances  in  which  some  intermediarv  cause  inter- 
vened  between  prayer  and  the  mental  happiness  resulting  from 
it.  In  the  thousands  of  instances  which  have  come  under  my 
observation,  for  the  phenomenon  is  at  least  of  daily  occurrence, 
I  have  never  observed  any  case  in  which  earnest  prayer  has 
not  been  ^  answered  '  (to  use  the  ordinary  word)  by  an  increase 
of  mental  happiness.  I  have  spoken  of  this  as  '  irrational,' 
because  it  does  not  arise  from  any  physical  or  external  cause, 
nor  indeed  from  anv  of  those  internal  causes  to  which  such  feel- 
ing  can  be  ascribed.  Its  irrationality  consists  in  the  fact  that, 
if  my  induction  be  valid  and  correct,  it  is  connected  with  the 
phenomenon  of  earnest  prayer  by  a  chain  of  causation  which 
may  be  explicable  by  conjecture  but  is  not  determinable  by 
reason."  ^^ 

This  case  is,  of  course,  in  some  respects  unusual,  but  the 
same  kind  of  help  to  which  "  Digamma  ''  here  testifies  is  being 
constantly  found  by  an  innumerable  number  of  common-place 
people  all  around  us.  A  considerable  majority  of  Morse  and 
Allan's  respondents  report  that  after  prayer  they  feel  a  burden 

*9  0p.  cit.,  pp.  11-13. 


334  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

of  some  sort  removed  from  their  minds ;  they  feel  "  peace," 
"  tranquillity,"  "  renewed  strength,"  ^'  spiritual  uplift."  Beck 
says  of  his  respondents,  "  Almost  every  answerer  feels  the  mani- 
festation of  unusual  power  [from  praying]  which  gives  ability 
to  accomplish  ends."  My  respondents  speak  of  prayer  as  hav- 
ing a  calming  influence  upon  the  nerves;  as  resulting  in  "  spir- 
itual uplift,"  self-confidence,  the  substitution  of  love  for  hate 
and  of  courage  for  fear,  an  increase  of  strength  both  physical 
and  moral,  help  in  resisting  temptation  and  in  clear  thinking, 
joy,  relief  from  care,  and  the  sense  that  "  all's  well."  It  is, 
indeed,  impossible  to  read  over  the  responses  to  a  questionnaire 
on  this  subject  without  being  impressed  by  the  vital  part  which 
prayer  plays  in  the  lives  of  the  respondents.  This  is  the  most 
striking  thing  about  the  answers  taken  as  a  whole.  On  other 
points  the  language  used  is  frequently  conventional  enough,  but 
when  the  question  of  the  value  of  prayer  in  one's  actual  experi- 
ence is  raised,  the  words  and  expressions  often  take  on  a  fresh- 
ness and  spontaneity  which  bear  unmistakable  witness  to  the 
genuineness  of  the  experience  of  which  they  speak. 

The  subjective  benefits  of  prayer  are  so  unmistakable  that 
one  who  had  lost  all  belief  in  any  objectivie  relation  between 
the  praying  individual  and  a  higher  power,  might  very  wisely 
continue  to  pray  (if  he  could)  purely  for  the  sake  of  the  reflex 
effects  of  prayer  upon  his  own  mind  and  character.  The  case 
cited  a  few  pages  back  of  a  former  student  of  mine  who  con- 
tinues the  use  of  petitional  prayer  merely  for  its  subjective 
influence  shows  that  this  deliberate  use  of  prayer  as  self-culture 
with  no  reference  to  any  Being  who  shall  hear  and  answer,  is 
not  only  possible  but  (at  least  in  rare  cases)  actual.  The  classi- 
cal example  of  this  sort  of  thing  is,  of  course,  to  be  found  in 
Jainism  and  Buddhism.  Though  the  more  "  advanced  "  Jaina 
monks  have  given  up  prayer  altogether  for  meditation,  very 
many  of  them.,  as  well  as  many  of  the  intelligent  laymen,  con- 
tinue to  pray,  because  experience  has  shovni  them  that  prayer, 
though  inconsistent  with  their  theory,  is  helpful  in  practice. 
Similarly  the  Buddhist  monk  in  Mandalay  quoted  a  few  pages 
back,  said  to  me :  "  The  intelligent  Buddhist  does  not  pray 
for  wealth  nor  health  nor  anything.  He  repeats  certain  phrases 
to  the  Buddha  because  of  their  good  influence  upon  him.     The 


PRAYER  AND  PRIVATE  WORSHIP  335 

whole  thing  is  subjective  and  the  effects  to  be  expected  are  spir- 
itual only.  Of  course  the  value  of  prayer  in  this  sense  is  de- 
pendent on  the  state  of  mind  of  the  man  who  prays." 

The  question  whether  prayer  is  nothing  more  than  a  mind 
state  having  a  certain  subjective  value,  such  as  auto-suggestion 
or  the  enjoyment  of  music,  or  whether  it  is  also  an  objective 
relation  between  the  prayerful  soul  and  some  sort  of  "  Higher 
Power  "  above  or  "  Spiritual  World  "  round  about,  from  Whom 
or  from  which  new  influxes  of  spiritual  life  may  actually 
come, —  this  is  for  metaphysics  rather  than  for  psychology. 
Psychology  may  and  should  point  out,  however,  that  the  sub- 
jective effects  of  prayer  are  almost  invariably  due,  directly  or 
indirectly,  to  some  real  faith  in  the  objective  relation.  A  few 
Jaina  and  Buddhist  monks,  and  a  few  earnest  "  emancipated  " 
minds  the  world  over,  may  succeed  in  reaping  some  subjective 
benefits  from  prayer  after  they  have  given  up  the  belief  in  any 
external  influence ;  but  a  large  part  of  this  effect  they  can  reap 
only  because  of  an  early  faith  in  some  external  influence,  and 
also  (probably)  because  at  the  moment  of  prayer  they  put  them- 
selves back  temporarily  into  something  like  the  believing  state 
of  mind.  Except  in  so  far  as  this  is  true,  their  "  prayer  "  is 
merely  meditation.  That  meditation  may  have  excellent  sub- 
jective effects  is  not  to  be  denied,  but  no  one  with  any  knowledge 
of  the  psychology  of  religion  will  claim  for  it  an  influence 
equal  to  that  which  results  from  the  earnest  prayer  of  the  man 
of  faith.  The  subjective  effects  of  prayer,  in  fact,  seem  to  be 
roughly  proportional  to  the  strength  of  the  faith  of  him  who 
prays.  The  benefits  which  the  Jaina  and  Buddhist  monks  reap 
from  prayer  are  probably  insignificant  compared  with  those 
which  come  to  the  earnest  believer  in  prayer  as  an  objective 
means  of  communicating  with  the  Divine.  The  number  of  per- 
sons, moreover,  who  would  be  able  to  get  any  beneficent  results 
from  prayer  once  they  had  lost  their  faith  in  its  objective  nature, 
is  exceedingly  limited.  Few  people  possess  the  histrionic  ability 
and  the  volitional  control  over  the  imagination  requisite  for  any 
notable  effects  from  prayer  without  faith,  and  few  even  of  those 
who  possess  these  abilities  would  think  it  worth  while  to  make 
use  of  them  in  such  prayer  for  the  sake  of  possible  subjective 
benefits.     For  every  case  like  that  of  the  unbelieving  student 


336  THE  RP:LIGI0US  CONSCIOUSNESS 

quoted  above  who  still  continued  to  pray,  probably  fifty  cases 
could  be  cited  of  those  who  had  completely  given  up  prayer 
because  of  loss  of  faith  in  it  as  an  actual  relation  between  man 
and  God. 

This  being  the  case  it  is  interesting  to  note  the  fervor  with 
which  certain  psychological  writers  extol  the  value  of  prayer 
and  in  the  same  breath  either  state  or  imply  that  its  value  is  due 
entirely  to  subjective  conditions.  These  writers  seem  to  have 
forgotten  what  Dr.  L.  P.  Jacks  has  w^ell  called  the  "  alchemy  of 
thought/'  "  to  interpret  experience  is  to  change  it.''  ^^  For 
since  the  subjective  value  of  prayer  is  chiefly  due  to  the  be- 
lief that  prayer  has  values  which  are  not  subjective,  it  will 
with  most  persons  evaporate  altogether  once  they  learn  that  it 
is  all  subjective.  Hence  if  it  be  true  both  that  the  subjective 
value  of  prayer  is  very  great  and  also  that  it  is  the  only  value 
which  prayer  possesses,  this  latter  fact  should  be  assiduously 
kept  secret.  The  psychologist  who  knows  it  and  publishes  it 
broadcast  is  like  the  physician  who  should  disclose  to  his  patient 
the  great  value  and  the  true  nature  of  bread  pills.  "  Take 
these,"  the  doctor  may  be  conceived  as  saying;  "  take  three  of 
these  after  each  meal  and  seven  after  Sunday  dinner,  and  they 
will  completely  cure  you.  They  contain  nothing  but  bread  and 
have  no  value  in  themselves,  absolutely  none ;  but  since  you 
don't  know  this  fact  and  are  unaware  that  you  are  being  fooled, 
their  subjective  effect  upon  you  will  be  invaluable." 

No,  if  the  subjective  value  of  prayer  be  all  the  value  it  has, 
we  wise  psychologists  of  religion  had  best  keep  the  fact  to  our- 
selves ;  otherwise  the  game  will  soon  be  up  and  we  shall  have  no 
religion  left  to  psychologize  about.  We  shall  have  killed  the 
goose  that  laid  our  golden  egg. 

50  "The  Alchemy  of  Thought"   (London,  Williams  and  Norgate:   1911), 
p.  108. 


CHAPTEE  XVI 

THE    MILDEE    FORM    OF    MYSTIC    EXPERIENCE 

There  is  probably  not  another  word  in  the  English  language 
so  overworked  and  so  ill-used  as  mysticism.  It  would  not  be 
difficult  to  produce  some  two  dozen,  more  or  less  well  known 
definitions  of  the  term,  each  differing  in  something  besides  words 
from  all  the  rest,  and  every  one  representing  some  fairly  com- 
mon usage. ^  To  a  considerable  extent,  the  difference  in  pur- 
pose and  in  point  of  view  is  responsible  for  this  wide  divergence ; 
and  one's  point  of  view  must  of  course  largely  determine  one's 
choice  of  a  definition.  Our  point  of  view  being  here  psycho- 
logical we  must  seek  for  a  definition  which  shall  take  mysticism 
as  a  psychological  concept  and  make  use  of  purely  psychological 
differentia.  And  so  far  as  I  can  see,  if  we  are  to  do  this  —  if 
we  are  to  regard  mysticism  as  a  peculiar  form  of  experience 
differing  psychologically  from  other  forms  —  we  must  give  it 
a  definition  broad  enough  to  include  many  things  which  are 
not  specifically  religious.  One  of  the  best  short  definitions  of 
mysticism  that  have  been  suggested  is  "  the  consciousness  of  a 
Beyond."  This  is,  of  course,  indefinite,  but  by  making  it 
somewhat  more  elaborate  and  explicit  we  can  construct  a  defini- 
tion which  though  clumsy  will,  I  think,  fill  all  the  essential  re- 
quirements. I  propose,  therefore,  that  for  our  purposes,  mysti- 
cism be  defined  as  the  sense  of  the  presence  of  a  being  or  reality 
through  other  means  than  the  ordinary  perceptive  processes  or 
the  reason.  It  is  the  sense  or  feeling  of  this  presence,  not  the 
belief  in  it,  and  it  is  not  the  result  of  sight  or  hearing  or  touch, 
nor  is  it  a  conclusion  one  reaches  by  thought ;  it  is,  instead,  an 
immediate  and  intuitive  experience.  The  words  "  being  "  and 
"  reality  "  as  used  in  the  definition  must  also  be  taken  in  a  very 
broad  sense.  They  may  refer  to  a  very  definite  individual,  but 
they  must  also  be  allowed  to  have  all  the  vagueness  of  the  word 

1  Cf .,   for   instance,   Pacheu,   "  Introduction   a   la  Psychologie  dea   Mys- 
tiques"   (Paris,  Oudin:  1901),  pp.  26-43. 

337 


338  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

^'  the  Bejond,"  as  used  in  the  short  definition  quoted  above. 
Taken  in  the  sense  now  defined,  mysticism  may,  I  think,  be  re- 
garded as  a  psychological  concept.  And  as  so  defined  it  is,  of 
course,  much  too  broad  to  be  confined  to  purely  religious  phe- 
nomena." It  includes  the  experiences  called  telepathic,  the  in- 
tuitive sense  which  the  lover  savs  he  has  for  his  love,  which  the 
mother  says  she  has  for  her  child,  the  ^'  possession  "  of  the  Sha- 
man, the  cosmic  consciousness  of  the  poet,  as  well  as  the  ecstasy 
of  the  ^^  mystic." 

But  it  is  only  with  religious  mysticism  that  we  are  here 
concerned.  And,  of  course,  religious  mysticism  differs  from 
other  forms  in  that  it  has  a  religious  object.  In  other  words, 
the  being  or  reality  whose  presence  is  felt  is  here  regarded  as 
"  divine."  Perhaps  it  is  the  personal  Jesus,  perhaps  it  is 
the  vague  cosmical  and  pantheistic  "  Beyond,"  but  so  long  as 
the  mystic  directly  feels  the  presence  of  what  he  regards  as  the 
Divine  we  have  religious  mysticism.  I  make  no  pretense  that 
^is  distinction  is  a  psychological  distinction,  but  I  think  it  is 
at  least  perfectly  plain  and  simple.  And  as  the  non-religious 
forms  of  mysticism  do  not  here  concern  us,  I  shall  as  a  rule  use 
the  term  mysticism  without  modifying  adjective  to  denote  the 
more  limited  form  of  experience  which  I  have  just  described 
as  "  religious  mysticism." 

But  religious  mysticism  itself  is  no  simple  matter.  To  be 
sure  all  the  mystics  of  every  land  and  century  may  in  one 
sense  be  said  to  speak  the  same  language ;  they  understand  each 
other  and  no  one  else  fully  understands  them.  And  yet  among 
themselves  they  differ  very  considerably,  and  religious  mysti- 
cism in  general  might  well  be  divided  into  a  large  number  of 
distinct  types.  If,  for  example,  we  should  make  our  classifica- 
tion on  the  basis  of  the  divine  object  whose  presence  the  mystic 
claims  to  "  feel,"  we  should  have  more  kinds  of  mysticism  than 
there  are  religions.  No  such  elaborate  subdivision,  however,  is 
needed  or  desirable ;  for,  in  fact,  if  we  examine  even  super- 
ficially the  cases  of  religious  mysticism  they  fall  of  themselves 
into  two  quite  distinct  types,  which  indeed  blend  into  each  other 
but  are  in  principle  quite  distinguishable,  and  thus  form  a  clas- 

2  Cf.   Coe,   "  The  Mystical  as  a  Psychological   Concept,"  Jour,   of  Phi- 
losophy,  VI,  197-202. 


MILDEE  FOKM  OF  MYSTIC  EXPERIEI^CE      339 

sification  which  is  both  natural  and  illuminating.  The  two 
classes  I  have  in  mind  might  be  called  the  mild  and  the  extreme 
types.  The  former  is  common-place  and  easily  overlooked,  it 
is  to  be  found  among  perfectly  normal  persons,  and  is  never 
carried  to  extremes.  The  other  type  is  usually  so  striking 
in  its  intensity  and  in  its  effects  that  it  attracts  notice  and  is 
regularly  regarded  as  a  sign  either  of  supernatural  visitation  or 
of  a  pathological  condition.  Cases  of  this  sort  are  generally 
found  among  intensely  religious  persons  whose  nervous  sys- 
tems are  in  a  state  of  somewhat  unstable  equilibrium.  And  in 
these  more  intense  cases  of  mysticism  the  simple  "  sense  of  a 
Beyond  "  develops  into  the  ecstasy  and  the  vision. 

I  cannot  too  strongly  emphasize  the  importance  of  making 
and  keeping  clear  this  subdivision  within  religious  mysticism. 
'No  just  idea  can  be  formed  upon  the  subject  and  no  sound 
conclusion  as  to  the  nature  and  place  and  value  of  mysticism  can 
be  reached  unless  one  constantly  keeps  in  mind  the  distinction 
between  these  two  kinds  of  mystic  states.  A  gTeat  deal  of  other- 
wise very  valuable  work  on  the  subject  has  become  exceedingly 
misleading  for  the  incautious  reader  because  of  a  failure  to 
make  this  distinction.  It  is  a  common  thing  for  a  writer  to 
make  some  general  statement  about  mysticism  as  such  which 
really  applies  to  only  one  of  the  two  types  and  not  at  all  to  the 
other.  And  the  failure  to  make  the  distinction  in  question  is 
particularly  unfortunate  because  when  either  type  is  taken 
alone  and  by  itself  to  represent  mysticism  the  choice  is  not 
likely  to  fall  on  the  mild  and  unobtrusive  sort.  Murisier  is  not 
the  only  writer  who  tells  us  that  mysticism  is  the  heart  of  re- 
ligion, and  then  proceeds  to  examine  the  most  extreme  cases 
of  the  most  extreme  type,  identifying  these  with  mysticism 
and  proving  thereby  that  the  heart  of  religion  is  rotten.^ 

Thus  it  has  come  about,  quite  naturally,  that  the  pathological 
side  of  mysticism  has  been  greatly  over-emphasized,  and  that 
mysticism,  and  with  it  religion,  is  beginning  to  get  a  bad  name. 
Several  things  have  worked  together  to  bring  about  this  over- 

8  Cf .  also  Charbonier :  "  En  fouillant  la  vie  des  mystiques,  je  vis  claire- 
ment  qu'ils  avaient  tous  ^te  malades  "  ("Maladies  des  Mystiques."  Brux- 
elles,  Manceaux:  1875,  p.  5).  Marie:  "  Saintes  ou  possedees,  peu  importe. 
Nous  savons  qu'elles  sont  tout  simplement  des  malades."  ( "  Mysticism  et 
Folie,"  Paris:  1907,  p.  131.) 


340  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

emphasis  on  the  abnormal  aspects  of  mysticism.  In  the  first 
place  it  is  very  striking  and  hence  naturally  interesting.  The 
milder  type  is  very  commonplace,  usually  shrinks  from  expres- 
sion and  publicity,  and  in  fact  is  often  regarded  as  not  worth 
being  expressed.  The  more  extreme  type  easily  gets  itself 
expressed  and  described  (in  some  fashion)  and  inevitably  at- 
tracts attention.  Moreover  the  Church  has  throughout  its  long 
history  regarded  the  trances  and  visions  of  its  obedient  and 
orthodox  mystics  as  supematurally  inspired,  and  hence  as  of 
infinitely  greater  value  than  cases  of  the  milder  type,  where  no 
supernatural  agency  seemed  to  be  involved.  And  the  modern 
psychologist,  naturally,  has  (for  once)  agreed  with  the  Church 
in  singling  out  just  these  extreme  cases,  though  for  a  very  differ- 
ent reason,  namely  because  they  offer  such  good  illustrations 
of  various  kinds  of  mental  pathology,  and  are  so  beautifully 
interpretable  in  terms  of  monoideism,  autosuggestion,  aboulia, 
etc.,  etc. 

In  writing  as  I  have  just  now  done,  I  do  not  mean  to  imply 
that  the  more  intense  and  extreme  form  of  mysticism  is  always 
pathological,  nor  that  the  frankly  pathological  cases  are  there- 
fore necessarily  entirely  devoid  of  ultimate  significance  and  on 
a  par  with  every  other  kind  of  pathological  mental  condition. 
The  explanation  and  value  of  the  mystic  ecstasy  and  revelation 
is  a  question  which  we  need  not  here  discuss  and  which  I  do  not 
wish  to  prejudge.  All  that  I  mean  to  point  out  at  present  is 
the  importance  of  distingaiishing  the  two  types  of  mysticism 
and  of  treating  them  separately.  Whenever  one  uses  the  word 
mysticism  he  should  ask  himself  first  whether  he  means  to  refer 
to  both  types,  and  if  not  which  of  the  two  he  has  in  mind.  In 
order  to  make  my  own  meaning  perfectly  clear,  therefore,  I 
shall  treat  of  the  two  kinds  of  mysticism  in  separate  chapters, 
dealing  with  the  milder  type  here  and  reserving  the  following 
chapters  to  the  more  extreme  form.  In  the  present  chapter, 
then,  I  shall  seek  simply  to  describe  —  not  to  explain  —  the 
less  intense  and  commoner  kind  of  mystic  experience  and  to 
trace  out  some  of  the  conditions  that  help  bring  it  about,  and 
some  of  the  results  that  it  produces. 

The  exact  nature  of  this  milder  form  of  mystical  experience 
is  for  the  non-mystical  psychologist  a  rather  baffling  question. 


MILDEK  FOEM  OF  MYSTIC  EXPERIENCE      341 

It  is,  of  course,  the  sense  of  a  Beyond,  the  feeling  of  the  pres- 
ence of  the  Divine.  But  direct  and  careful  descriptions  of  this 
feeling  are  difficult  to  find.  The  expressions  of  the  milder 
type  of  mystics  when  analyzed  often  seem  to  be  hardly  more 
than  affirmations  of  their  belief  in  the  intercourse  between  God 
and  man,  or  in  some  other  theological  or  philosophical  position. 
Very  seldom,  even  in  the  best  of  the  mystical  writings,  does  one 
come  upon  a  direct  and  analytic  description  of  the  experience 
which  is  the  basis  of  the  whole..  Dfficulties,  however,  must  not 
daunt  us;  nor  should  we  give  up  the  attempt  to  understand 
mysticism  because  of  the  unfortunate  fact  that  most  mystics 
are  not  psychologists.  Something  may  be  done  with  the  ex- 
pressions of  religious  people  though  they  be  not  expressed  in 
psychological  terminology.  And  I  propose  therefore  to  lay  be- 
fore the  reader  a  rather  heterogeneous  collection  of  such  expres- 
sions from  which  we  may  be  able  to  make  out  with  some  degree 
of  clearness  what  the  milder  form  of  the  mystic  experience  is 
like  —  or,  in  short,  "  how  God  feels.'' 

My  collection  of  descriptions  of  the  mystic  experience  is,  as 
I  have  said,  rather  heterogeneous ;  and  my  arrangement  of  them 
has  been  purposely  unsystematic.  For  in  selecting  my  data  I 
have  sought  to  avoid  the  local  and  the  provinical  in  order  to 
make  the  resulting  impression  not  that  of  American  or  of 
mediaeval  religious  experience  but  of  the  milder  mysticism  as 
such,  in  its  more  general  aspect.  The  data  I  shall  present  are 
therefore  gathered  from  no  one  century  and  no  one  land.  They 
come  from  persons  of  very  different  degrees  of  intelligence  and 
education.  They  are  not  even  confined  to  any  one  religion. 
And  yet,  as  the  reader  will  notice,  though  differing  in  many 
details,  they  show  a  rather  remarkable  (and  I  fear,  to  the  reader, 
monotonous)  agreement  in  essentials.  Without  further  com- 
ment, then,  I  shall  let  the  mystics  speak  for  themselves,  and  tell 
(in  their  unfortunately  rather  indirect  fashion)  what  is  the 
experience  of  the  "  consciousness  of  the  presence  of  God.'' 

Let  me  begin  with  the  expressions  of  some  of  my  respondents. 
"  I  have  experienced  God's  presence  so  that  I  felt  the  lack  of 
nothing  and  feared  nothing.  It  is  hard  to  describe  the  'feel- 
ing, but  everything  seems  bright  and  clear  ahead,  and  I  feel 
as  if  I  had  the  support  of  some  great  unimpeachable  authority 


342  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

behind  me  for  everything  I  may  do  then.  It  feels  as  though  I 
were  not  standing  alone."  *'  I  mean  by  this  presence  a  peace- 
ful consciousness  of  this  support  and  indwelling.  It  is  dis- 
tinct. In  the  face  of  struggle,  hardship,  or  test  it  says,  *  I  am 
with  you.^  That  is  strength.  It  stands  where  all  the  world 
fails.  It  is  sufficient  always  —  not  half-way  assistance  but 
definite."  ^'  For  eleven  years  I  have  never  for  a  moment  lost 
the  blessed  sense  of  the  Presence  and  indwelling  of  God.  God 
is  as  real  as  He  is  dear  to  me,  and  His  nearness  and  dearness 
are  unspeakably  rich  and  indescribable,  save  in  the  most  ex- 
aggerated terms.  I  know  the  presence  and  the  voice  of  my 
Beloved.  When  I  talk  with  Him  it  is  as  natural  and  as  sim- 
ple but  far  more  delightful,  than  speaking  to  a  dear  one  close 
at  hand.  I  know  what  it  is  to  love  God  and  let  Him  love  me 
actively.  This  continued  state  is  my  very  life.  There  have 
been  times  when  for  a  little  while  I  have  lost  the  experience 
of  the  presence  of  God,  as  the  Master  did  when  His  flesh  cried 
out  on  the  cross.  But  I  have  never  lost  the  knowledge  of 
God's  presence,  and  when  I  have  come  back  into  the  realization 
of  it,  it  has  always  been  with  a  richer  inflow  of  His  holy  love." 
"  At  times  God  is  very  real  to  me.  At  such  times  He  seems 
nearer  and  more  real  than  any  human  being  could  be.  At 
other  times  He  seems  real  but  more  or  less  remote.  There 
have  been  times  in  my  life,  beginning  in  early  childhood,  when 
I  have  believed  myself  to  come  consciously  into  the  presence  of 
God.  Sometimes  this  has  occurred  when  I  have  been  in  great 
sorrow  or  in  great  fear  and  dread.  But  sometimes  I  have  felt 
His  Presence  without  any  special  reason  for  it  —  for  example, 
when  I  have  been  alone  out  of  doors  or  reading  something  that 
has  touched  me  by  its  beauty  and  truth,  I  have  felt  a  quick,  glad 
sense  that  He  was  near,  '  closer  to  me  than  breathing,  nearer 
than  hands  or  feet.'  Such  experiences  while  they  last  make 
me  feel  that  I  have  come  to  my  true  self.  I  seem  to  under- 
stand life  better  for  them.  They  are  accompanied  by  no  emo- 
tional excitement,  only  by  a  deep  peace  and  gladness.  I  have 
never  spoken  of  them  to  anyone.  These  experiences  are  not 
habitual  with  me,  that  is,  they  do  not  occur  very  frequently. 
They  afford  me  my  strongest  ground  for  belief  in  God." 


MILDEE  FOEM  OF  MYSTIC  EXPEEIENCE      343 

A  witness  to  the  same  experience  is  found  in  Mr.  H.  G. 
Wells.     In  his  "  First  and  Last  Things  ''  he  writes : 

"  At  times,  in  the  silence  of  the  night  and  in  rare  lonely  mo- 
ments, I  come  upon  a  sort  of  communion  of  myself  and  some- 
thing great  that  is  not  myself.  It  is  perhaps  poverty  of  mind 
and  language  obliges  me  to  say  that  this  universal  scheme  takes 
on  the  effect  of  a  sympathic  person  —  and  my  communion  a 
quality  of  fearless  worship.  These  moments  happen,  and  they 
are  the  supreme  fact  of  my  religious  life  to  me;  they  are  the 
crown  of  my  religious  experience."  * 

"  The  sense  of  the  presence  of  God,"  says  St.  Alphonse 
Eodriguez,  "  is  not  gained  through  the  imagination ;  it  is  a 
spiritual  and  experimental  certainty."  ^  In  similar  strain,  St. 
Frangois  de  Sales  writes,  "  The  soul  which  is  in  quietness  be- 
fore God  drinks  in  insensibly  the  sweetness  of  that  presence 
without  reasoning  about  it.  .  .  .  In  this  quietness  she  has  no 
need  of  memory,  for  her  Beloved  is  present.  She  has  no  need 
of  imagination,  for  why  need  she  present  in  an  image  Him 
whose  presence  she  enjoys  ?  "  ^ 

"  Several  persons,"  writes  Poulain,  "  accustomed  to  the  mys- 
tic union,  have  told  me  that  the  following  comparison  describes 
very  exactly  the  inner  possession  of  God :  "  We  feel  the  pres- 
ence of  our  bodies  equally  well  with  our  eyes  open  or  closed. 
If  we  know  that  our  bodies  are  there  it  is  not,  then,  because  we 
see  them  nor  because  someone  has  told  us  of  them.  It  is  the 
result  of  a  special  sensation,  of  an  interior  impression  which 
makes  us  feel  that  our  souls  penetrate  and  vivify  our  bodies. 
It  is  a  very  simple  sensation  which  we  try  in  vain  to  analyze. 
It  is  thus  that  in  the  mystic  union  we  feel  God  within  us,  and 
in  a  manner  quite  simple."  "^ 

These  quotations,  I  trust,  will  give  the  non-mystical  reader 
some  slight  idea  of  the  nature  of  the  mystical  experience.  And 
yet  it  must  be  admitted  that  as  descriptions  they  leave  much 

♦  "First  and  Last  Things"   (London,  Constable:   1908),  p.  60. 
6  St.   Alphonse   Rodriguez,   quoted  by  Poulain,   in   "  Des   Graces  d'Orai- 
Bon"   (Paris,  Victor  Retaux:   1906),  p.  77. 

6  Quoted  by  Poulain,  op.  cit.,  p.  76. 

7  Op.  cit.,  p.  9L 


344  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

to  be  desired.  It  is  extremely  seldom  that  a  mystic  of  this 
milder  typo  gives  or  even  attempts  to  give  a  detailed  and  exact 
description  of  his  experience.  There  are  several  obvious  rea- 
sons for  this.  One  is  that  the  mystic  is  not  usually  interested 
in  exact  description  and  never  thinks  of  taking  the  psychological 
point  of  view.  Poor  introspection  on  the  part  of  many  is  an- 
other reason.  Most  fundamental  of  all  is  the  fact  that  exact 
psychological  description  of  an  emotional  experience  muBt 
necessarily  be  in  sensuous  terms,  while  the  mystic  often  feels 
that  sensuous  terms  are  unworthy  to  be  applied  to  his  purely 
^^  spiritual ''  experience.  He  recognizes  indeed  that  there  is  a 
sensuous  element  in  his  experience  but  this  he  regards  as  merely 
a  chance  accompaniment,  and  hence  he  tries  to  describe  his  ex- 
prience  in  terms  that  have  no  relation  to  sense.  The  result  is 
the  usual  theological  explanation  put  in  place  of  a  psychological 
description.  And  if  the  mystic  really  does  begin  to  describe  he 
often  stops  abruptly  on  discovering  the  inevitably  sensuous 
nature  of  his  description.  One  of  my  respondents  puts  it 
nai'velv  and  excellentlv:  "When  I  trv  to  describe  such  an 
experience  in  words  the  terms  are  terms  of  sensation  and  they 
should  not  be." 

A  number  of  the  most  famous  Christian  mystics,  however, 
especially  those  best  endowed  with  introspective  power,  have  no 
such  scruples,  and  frankly  analyze  their  experience  —  or  at 
least  parts  of  it  —  into  the  organic  sensations  that  help  to 
make  it  up.  And  though  the  great  majority  of  those  who  have 
known  the  mystic  experience  only  in  its  milder  form  give  us 
only  vague  and  inexact  descriptions  with  no  analysis,  there 
is  occasionally  one  here  or  there  who  recognizes  the  fact  that 
religious  emotion  like  every  other  emotion  has  a  large  sensuous 
element,  and  who  frankly  refers  to  this  in  his  expressions. 
Thus  St.  Augustine,  who  though  a  mystic  of  the  less  intense 
type  was  gifted  with  unusual  powers  of  introspection,  writes 
as  follows: 

"  Not  with  uncertain  but  with  assured  consciousness  do  I 
love  Thee,  O  Lord.  .  .  .  But  what  is  it  that  I  love  in  loving 
Thee  ?  Not  corporeal  beauty,  nor  the  splendor  of  time,  nor  the 
radiance  of  the  light,  so  pleasant  to  our  eyes,  nor  the  sweet 


MILDEK  FORM  OF  MYSTIC  EXPERIENCE      345 

melodies  of  songs,  nor  the  fragrant  scent  of  flowers  and  oint- 
ment and  spices,  nor  manna  and  honey,  nor  limbs  pleasant  to 
the  embracements  of  the  flesh.  It  is  not  these  things  I  love 
when  I  love  my  God;  and  yet  I  love  a  certain  kind  of  light, 
and  a  certain  kind  of  sound,  and  a  certain  kind  of  fragrance 
and  food  and  embracement,  in  loving  my  God,  who  is  the  light, 
the  sound,  the  fragrance,  the  food,  the  embracement  of  my  inner  ^ 
man;  where  that  light  shineth  unto  my  soul  which  no  place 
can  contain,  where  that  soundeth  which  time  snatcheth  not 
away,  where  there  is  a  fragrance  which  no  breeze  disperseth, 
where  there  is  a  food  which  no  eating  can  diminish,  where 
that  clingeth  which  no  satiety  can  sunder.  This  is  what  I 
love  when  I  love  my  God."  ^ 

Occasionally,  but  very  rarely,  one  who  has  had  the  experi- 
ence in  question  tries  to  put  his  description  in  purely  sensa- 
tional terms  —  one  of  my  respondents,  for  instance,  writing  as 
follows :  "  With  me  the  physical  effects  begin  usually  with  a 
quivering  and  upheaving  of  the  diaphragm  which  starts  a  wave 
of  sensation  upward  through  the  chest  region  and  into  the 
pharynx,  and  results  in  incipient  yawning.  This  in  turn  is 
followed  by  an  excitement  of  the  lachrymal  glands  and  tears 
sometimes  fill  my  eyes.  All  these  physical  sensations,  consid- 
ered as  such,  are  mildly  pleasing.  After  they  are  over  comes 
a  sense  of  great  refreshment." 

Such  a  purely  sensational  description  as  this  when  taken 
by  itself  is  certainly  quite  as  incapable  of  giving  us  a  just  idea 
of  the  nature  of  the  experience  as  are  the  more  "  spiritual " 
descriptions  given  above.  Both  kinds  are  needed  to  supplement 
each  other.  For  though  sensation  forms  an  important  part  in 
every  emotion  and  though  emotion  must  be  analyzed  into  sen- 
sational terms  before  it  can  be  accurately  described,  the  ele- 
ments thus  analyzed  out  are  not  the  emotion,  and  the  analysis 
comes  very  near  to  destroying  the  experience.  When  water 
has  been  analyzed  into  hydrogen  and  oxygen  it  is  no  longer 
water.  As  Professor  Royce  puts  it,  "  consciousness  is  not  a 
shower  of  shot."  An  experience  is  what  it  is  immediately 
"  known  as,"  not  what  it  might  be  analyzed  into.     "  The  ele- 

8  Confessions,  X,  6. 


346  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

ments  that  analysis  detects  exist,  as  consciousness  states,  when 
tliev  are  detected  and  not  before."  ^ 

Hence,  in  one  sense,  the  mystic  is  justified  in  his  constantly 
reiterated  assertion  that  his  deepest  religious  experiences  are 
indescribable  —  ineffable.  This  is  of  course  true  to  a  consid- 
erable extent  of  every  emotion.  Every  emotion,  that  is,  must 
undergo  a  certain  amount  of  distortion  and  transformation  if  it 
is  to  be  put  into  such  a  form  as  to  be  communicable.  But 
different  emotions  involve  different  degrees  of  such  transforma- 
tion and  distortion,  according  to  their  relative  complexity  and 
to  the  varying  amounts  and  kinds  of  ideation  and  organic  feel- 
ing that  analysis  would  be  able  to  detect  in  them.  And  the  al- 
most universal  assertion  of  the  mystics  is  that  their  religious 
experience  is  the  one  most  difficult  of  all  to  be  thus  analyzed 
and  described.  In  fact  the  ineffability  of  the  experience  is  one 
of  its  most  prominent  characteristics.  Tauler,  after  speaking  at 
some  length  of  the  mystic  experience,  says,  "  What  this  is  and 
how  it  comes  to  pass  is  easier  to  feel  than  to  describe.  All 
that  I  have  said  is  as  poor  and  unlike  it  as  a  point  of  a  needle 
is  to  the  heavens  above  us."  And  the  author  of  the  Theologia 
Germanica  writes :  ^^  Now,  it  may  be  asked,  what  is  the  state 
of  a  man  who  followeth  the  true  Light  to  the  utmost  of  his 
power?  I  answer  truly,  it  will  never  be  declared  aright,  for 
he  who  is  not  such  a  man  can  neither  understand  it  nor  know  it, 
and  he  who  is  knoweth  indeed,  but  he  cannot  utter  it,  for  it 
is  unspeakable.  Therefore  let  him  who  would  know  it  give 
his  whole  diligence  that  he  may  enter  therein;  then  will  he 
see  and  find  what  hath  never  been  uttered  by  man's  lips."  ^^ 

"  It  is  in  the  personal  or  individual  part  of  our  experience," 
writes  a  modem  mystic,  "  that  we  are  disturbed  by  intermis- 
sions and  that  we  have  need  of  words.  I  believe  that  neither 
words  nor  variations  have  any  place  in  the  innermost  Sanc- 
tuary. .  .  .  The  deeper  we  go  the  fewer  will  be  our  words, 
and  the  less  will  any  need  of  them  be  felt.  As  we  enter  the 
innermost  chamber  of  our  own  hearts,  words,  and  it  may  be 

sRoyce,  "Outlines  of  Psychology"  (New  York,  Msicmillan:  1904),  pp. 
108,  109.     See  the  whole  passage. 

10  "The  Theologia  Germanica,"  translated  by  Sussana  Winkworth  (Lon- 
don, Macmillan :  1907 ) ,  p.  C9. 


MILDER  FORM  OF  MYSTIC  EXPERIEI^CE      347 

even  thoughts,  are  left  behind.  In  the  innermost  Sanctuary 
itself  nothing  is  known  but  the  Light.  Those  who  are  permitted 
to  dwell  much  in  that  Light  of  Life  become  suffused  with  a 
radiance  more  powerful  than  words  to  convey  to  others  the 
knowledge  of  the  place  whence  cometh  our  help.  Where  that 
radiance  is,  words  and  silence  are  alike  living  and  blessed."  ^^ 

A  pupil  came  to  one  of  the  great  masters  of  the  Vedanta  and 
said  to  him,  "  Reverend  sir,  teach  me  Brahman."  The  master 
responded  by  keeping  silent.  And  the  pupil  said  again,  "  O 
reverend  Sir,  teach  me  Brahman."  He,  however,  still  re- 
mained silent.  When,  now,  the  pupil  asked  him  the  third  time, 
he  said :  "  I  do  teach  thee  Brahman,  but  thou  understandest 
it  not.     This  Atman  is  silent."  ^^ 

The  ineffability  of  the  mystic  experience,  however,  by  no 
means  lessens  the  mystic's  certainty  that  in  it  he  somehow  comes 
into  touch  with  the  "  Beyond."  "  God  is  as  real  to  me  as  my- 
self," writes  one  of  my  respondents.  "  My  recognition  of  Him 
is  an  indistinct  but  real  presence."  "  I  speak  to  Him  with 
as  much  confidence  as  to  a  friend  at  the  end  of  a  telephone,  and 
with  no  more  doubt  that  He  hears."  This  response  is  represen- 
tative of  the  overwhelming  majority  of  all  those  in  whom  the 
"mystic  germ  "  (as  James  used  to  call  it)  is  at  all  well  devel- 
oped. It  would  be  a  mistake,  however,  to  suppose  that  the  less 
intense  forms  of  mystic  experience  bring  with  them  always  this 
same  sense  of  irrefutable  certainty.  The  man  in  whom  the 
"  mystic  germ  "  is  still  but  incipient  may  and  often  does  ques- 
tion the  authority  or  the  significance  of  such  moments.  One  of 
this  type  writes  to  me  thus :  "  Perhaps  I  have  experienced 
God's  presence,  but  I  am  not  sure.  It  may  have  been  merely  an 
emotional  expression  of  my  own  nature.  Itifcame  from  a  sudden 
realization  of  the  glories  of  certain  phases  of  nature.  Its  con- 
nection with  God  was  extremely  vague  and  may  have  come 
merely  from  my  habits  of  thought.  It  cannot  really  be  called 
an  experience."  This  man,  of  course,  cannot  be  classed  as  a 
mystic,  so  very  faint  and  questionable  was  the  experience  of 

11  Caroline    Stephen,    in    "Light   Arising"    (Cambridge,    Heifer:    1908 )> 
p.  91. 

12  Quoted  by  Deussen,  "Das  System  des  Vedanta"   (Leipzig,  Brockhaus: 
1906),  p.  227. 


348  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

which  he  speaks.  When  the  mystic  sense  is  more  intense, 
though  it  may  still  be  questioned,  the  individual  usually  comes 
in  the  end  to  a  recognition  of  its  objective  significance.  One 
quasi-mystic  writes  me  thus:  "  Under  great  spiritual  uplift  I 
have  stopped  and  asked,  Is  it  possible  that  this  intense  feeling, 
this  spiritual  joy,  is  subjective?  But  I  could  not  believe  it  pos- 
sible to  extemporize  the  peculiar  experience  without  a  divine 
presence."  And  almost  without  exception  so  far  as  I  can  dis- 
cover, as  the  mystic  life  progresses  and  becomes  either  more 
constant  or  more  intense,  its  authority  for  the  subject  of  it  be- 
comes more  and  more  irresistible  and  unquestionable. 

"  The  man  who  truly  experiences  the  pure  presence  of  God 
in  his  own  soul  knows  well  that  there  can  be  no  doubt  about 
it,"  writes  Tauler.  By  "  devout  prayer  and  the  uplifting  of 
the  mind  to  God  "  there  is  "  an  entrance  into  union  of  the  cre- 
ated spirit  with  the  uncreated  Spirit  of  God  "  so  that  the  hu- 
man spirit  "  is  poured  forth  into  God  and  becomes  one  spirit 
with  Him."  This  knowledge  comes  only  through  experience  of 
"  entering  in  and  dwelling  in  the  Inner  Kingdom  of  God,  where 
the  pure  truth  and  the  sweetness  of  God  are  found."  ^^ 

This  last  sentence  of  Tauler's  suggests  the  twofold  aspect  of 
mysticism.  For  ineffable  as  this  experience  undoubtedly  is 
for  the  mystic,  we,  the  on-looking  psychologists,  may  analyze 
his  statements  and  make  out  from  them  some  of  the  character- 
istics of  the  mystic  state.  Tauler,  then,  speaks  of  two  things, 
namely  "  'pure  truth  "  and  "  the  sweetness  of  God  '*  as  charac- 
asteristic  of  the  "  Inner  Kingdom."  And  while  he  may  have 
written  this  with  no  idea  of  technical  exactness,  a  study  of  the 
mystical  writings  as  a  whole  shows  that  the  two  most  prominent 
aspects  of  mysticism  are  just  the  two  indicated  by  his  expres- 
sion. In  other  words,  mysticism  is  in  part  emotional,  in  part 
ideational  and  cognitive.  Only  in  its  most  extreme  form  (if  in- 
deed even  then)  is  it  a  mere  feeling  state  without  farther  con- 
tent. Feeling  indeed  there  is,  usually  in  great  richness;  but 
this  feeling  is  invariably  crystallized  about  some  central  idea, 
some  intellectual  certainty,  which  comes  to  the  mystic  as  a 
revelation  of  truth,  and  which  he  usually  has  no  difficulty  in 

13  Quoted  from  Tauler  by  Jones  in  "  Studies  in  Mystical  Religion"  (Lon- 
don, Macmillan:   1909),  p.  281. 


MILDEK  FOKM  OF  MYSTIC  EXPEEIEKCE      349 

defining  and  communicating.  It  does  not  come  to  him,  to  be 
snre,  in  the  form  of  a  clearly  expressed  judgment,  but  rather  as 
an  immediate  intuition  of  a  reality,  which  only  later  on  he  is 
able  to  formulate  into  a  perfectly  definite  proposition. 

The  cognitive  and  emotional  elements  of  mysticism  are  mu- 
tually influential.  Strong  emotion  not  only  intensifies  convic- 
tion but  determines  to  some  extent  the  nature  of  the  intellectual 
content.  Thus  an  intense  sentiment  of  love  will  tend  to  make 
the  mystic's  God  more  personal  and  less  cosmic.  The  process 
works  in  the  other  direction  equally  well.  Emotional  mysti- 
cism is  almost  invariably  associated  with  belief  in  a  personal 
God  not  only  for  the  reason  just  suggested  but  also  because  be- 
lief in  a  personal  God  tends  to  rouse  and  increase  the  sentiment 
of  personal  love.  An  impersonal  God,  on  the  other  hand,  is 
seldom  associated  with  the  emotional  type  of  mysticism.  This 
is  noticeable  in  a  comparison  of  the  theology  of  intellectual 
mystics  such  as  Eckhart  and  that  held  by  the  emotional  type, 
such  as  St.  Teresa  and  John  of  the  Cross.  The  contrast  is 
equally  striking  in  India.  The  earlier  Upanishads,  with  their 
impersonal  Brahman,  show  much  less  emotional  intensity  than 
the  later  theistic  Upanishads,  or  than  the  Bhagavad  Gita  and  the 
Puranas,  which  got  their  inspiration  from  belief  in  the  personal 
deities  of  the  great  Sects.  There  is  little  warmth  of  mystic 
emotion  in  the  attitude  of  the  philosophical  followers  of  Shan- 
kara  to-day;  and  the  mystical  exercises  of  the  atheistic 
Buddhists  led  to  trance  rather  than  to  joyful  ecstasy. 

When  we  come  (in  a  later  chapter)  to  discuss  the  ecstasy  of 
the  great  mystics  and  its  noetic  character,  we  shall  consider  at 
some  length  the  nature  of  the  cognitive  element  in  mysticism. 
For  the  purposes  of  this  chapter  it  will  suffice  to  say  that  the^ 
one  great  truth  of  which  the  mystic  of  the  less  intense  type 
always  feels  an  intuitive  certainty  is  the  presence  of  the  Be- 
yond. Many  insist  that  besides  this  (or  almost  as  a  part  of  it) 
they  are  intuitively  "  conscious  "  of  the  certainty  of  a  future 
life,  or  of  the  optimistic  world-view  that  ultimately  "  all  is 
well."  These  deliverances  of  the  mystic  consciousness  however, 
though  sometimes  present  as  a  realization  of  the  supreme  worth 
of  spirit,  are  by  no  means  universal.  The  one  thing,  there- 
fore, to  which  all  the  mystics  of  the  less  extreme  form  invariably 


350  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

witness  is  the  presence  of  a  greater  Life  which  somehow  comes 
in  touch  with  theirs. 

An  attempt  to  analyze  and  describe  the  mystic  sense  of  pres- 
ence should  begin  with  a  consideration  of  ordinary  perception. 
Perception,  as  contrasted  with  sensation,  has  two  elements:  (1) 
an  immediate  sensational  or  ideational  and  logical  content,  and 
(2)  an  outer  reference.  It  means  more  than  it  is.  External 
objects,  as  Professor  Stout  puts  it,  are  "  cognized  as  existing 
independently  of  us,  just  as  we  exist  independently  of  them." 
"  The  external  thing  does  not  consist  for  us  merely  in  the  sensi- 
ble features  by  which  it  is  qualified.  There  must  be  something 
to  which  these  sensorv  contents  are  referred  as  attributes."  ^'* 
In  other  words,  an  important  part  of  perception  is  the  implicit 
recognition  of  the  presence  of  an  object  which  is  more  than 
just  our  psychical  content.  It  is  this  same  sense  of  objectivity 
which  the  mystic  feels ;  the  experience  brings  with  it  an  implicit 
certainty  that  the  object  or  Being  which  he  experiences  is  more 
than  the  experience  itself. 

As  to  the  content  of  the  mystical  sense  of  presence  we  may 
again  get  light  by  considering  the  normal  experience  of  per- 
ceiving and  "  feeling  "  the  presence  of  other  people.  For  a  con- 
siderable number  of  cases  are  cited  in  James's  ^^  Varieties  "  ^^ 
and  in  Leuba's  "  Belief  in  God  and  Immortality "  ^®  which 
link  up  the  mystical  experience  with  quite  non-religious  in- 
stances in  which  some  invisible  being  is  felt  to  be  present  with- 
out any  suggestion  that  this  being  is  God  or  any  other  religious 
object.  This  experience,  moreover,  seems  to  be  much  the  same 
as  that  of  the  ordinary  realization  of  a  person's  presence,  minus 
the  sensory  causes  w^hich  normally  give  rise  to  it.  "  The  es- 
sential constituents  of  the  experience  of  the  presence  of  a  per- 
son," writes  Professor  Leuba,  "  in  a  case  of  ordinary  perception 
are  neither  sight  nor  sound  nor  even  touch ;  but  the  very  com- 

14  "The  Groundwork  of  Psycholog\^ "  (Xew  York,  Hinds  Noble:  1903), 
p.  90.  See  also  Titchener,  "A  Textbook  of  Psychology,"  p.  367;  Pills- 
bury,  "Fundamentals  of  Psychology"  (New  York,  Macmillan:  1916),  pp. 
268-69 ;  Ward,  article  on  "  Psychology "  in  the  Britannica.  I  have  dis- 
cussed the  matter  at  some  length  in  a  paper  on  "  Realism  and  Percep- 
tion "  in  the  Jour,  of  Phil,  XVI,  596-603. 

15  Lecture  III. 
i«  Pp.  47-48. 


MILDEK  FORM  OF  MYSTIC  EXPERIEis^CE      351 

plex  sensory-motor  activities  which  commonly  follow  upon  these 
perceptions.  When  we  see  some  one  and  feel  his  presence,  our 
whole  psycho-physical  attitude  is  modified ;  the  facial  and  bodily 
expressions  are  altered,  feelings  and  emotions  are  generated,  and 
in  addition  thought  is  given  a  new  direction;  it  centers  about 
our  relations  with  the  person  of  the  presence  of  whom  we  are 
aware/'  ^'^ 

Both  the  characteristics  of  the  ordinary  realization  of  per- 
sonal presence  here  described  —  the  objective  reference  and 
the  group  of  sensory-motor  activities  —  are  to  be  found  in  the 
mystical  sense  of  presence. ^^  But  the  fact  that  the  being  thus 
felt  is  regarded  as  the  Divine  adds  to  the  mystical  experience  an 
emotional  intensity  seldom  found  in  the  non-religious  cases. 
This  Divine  Being  may  be  sensed  as  a  merely  vague  Presence, 
or  as  a  perfectly  definite  personality,  all  but  visible  and  audi- 
ble.-^^  The  nature  of  the  emotion  involved  varies,  moreover, 
from  calm  and  joyful  peace  to  violent  love  and  intense  adora- 
tion. A  triumphant  sense  of  certitude,  a  swelling  confidence 
in  the  power  of  the  spirit,  a  reverent  but  trustful  laying  of 
hands  upon  the  Invisible  and  the  Infinite,  make  up,  for  many,  a 
large  part  of  this  experience.  The  mystical  sense  of  presence, 
in  fact,  is  so  complex,  and  varies  so  considerably  from  subject  to 
subject,  that  an  exact  and  full  description  of  one  case  would 
probably  hold  in  its  entirety  of  no  other.  In  this  sense  at  least 
the  mystic  is  justified  in  insisting  that  his  experience  is  sui 
generis. 

So  much  for  the  cognitive,  or  semi-cognitive,  side  of  the 
milder  form  of  mysticism.  The  other  aspect  of  the  mystic 
experience  is  its  emotional  character.  Yet  it  is  only  for  pur- 
poses of  analysis  and  exposition  that  this  can  be  called  an 
"  other  "  aspect,  for  in  the  experience  itself  the  cognitive  and 
the  emotional  elements  are  almost  indissolubly  blended.  The 
joy  and  sweetness  of  this  experience  is  something  to  which  the 
mystics  universally  testify  with  such  imanimity  that  I  need 
hardly  make  use  here  of  any  of  their  testimony  —  for  no  one 

17  Op.  cit.,  pp.  48-49. 

18  See,  for  example,  two  very  admirable  descriptions  of  the  experience 
given  by  a  modern  mystic  with  excellent  psychological  ability,  in  Flour- 
noy,  "  Une  Mystic  Moderne,"  Arch,  de  Psychol,  XV,  42-45. 

i»  See  the  many  examples  given  by  Segond  in  Chapter  III  of  "  La  Prifere." 


352  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

who  has  done  anv  reading  in  the  mystic  literature  can  have 
failed  to  come  upon  numerous  references  to  this  joj.  Three 
short  quotations  from  three  far-separated  lands  and  centuries 
will  here  suffice.  "The  hliss  of  Brahman!"  exclaims  the 
Taitteriya  Upani'^had.  "  Speech  and  mind  fall  back  baffled 
and  ashamed.  All  fear  vanishes  in  the  knowing  of  that  bliss." 
St.  Augustine,  who  was  only  very  moderately  favored  in  this 
respect,  speaks  of  the  experience  as  "  a  most  rare  affection," 
"  an  inexplicable  sweetness,  such  that,  if  it  should  be  perfected 
in  me,  I  know  not  to  what  point  my  life  might  not  arrive."  ^^ 
One  of  my  respondents  writes,  "  God  is  very  real  to  me,  as  real 
as  an  earthly  friend,  though  with  a  more  purely  spiritual  real- 
ity. I  have  experienced  His  presence.  It  touches  the  whole 
being  into  a  warm  and  living  but  inexpressibly  high  and  noble 
love  of  the  universe  and  each  dear  thing  in  it,  and  makes  one 
feel  over  all  a  wonderful  and  inexpressible  power,  which  is 
God.  Material  things  are  unreal,  then,  or  at  least  not  distinct 
from  the  spiritual.  This  does  not  express  it  all  —  it  is  beyond 
expression." 

For  some  —  and  I  think  especially  for  mystics  of  the  milder 
type  —  the  mystic  experience  is  always  one  of  joy  and  calm, 
and  is  unconnected  with  pain  of  any  sort.  It  would  be  a  mis- 
take, however,  to  suppose  that  this  is  the  case  with  all,  or  to 
regard  mysticism  as  always  a  joyous  thing  with  no  heavier 
and  sadder  side.  Mysticism  has  its  pains  as  well  as  its  delights. 
Especially  is  this  the  case  with  the  more  extreme  type,  but  it 
is  also  true  occasionally  of  the  milder  type  studied  in  this 
chapter.  Such  mystic  pains  are  of  two  sorts,  positive  and  nega- 
tive. The  negative  kind  is  the  milder  of  the  two  and  is  due 
simply  to  the  fact  that  the  individual  has,  perhaps,  overempha- 
sized the  importance  of  religious  joy,  or  at  any  rate  wishes  for 
and  expects  its  return  at  a  time  when,  for  some  unknown  reason, 
it  cannot  come.  Eor,  as  we  shall  see,  religious  emotion  of 
this  kind  is  not  at  the  beck  and  call  of  any  one.  It  is  impossible 
to  remain  ever  "  on  the  heights,"  and  the  person  who  expects 
to  do  so  wall  experience  and  perhaps  grieve  over  what  the 
greater  mystics  know  as  periods  of  "  dryness."  This  state  of 
things  is  well  depicted  by  Thomas  a  Kempis,  who  knows  both 

20  «  Confessions,"  X,  40. 


MILDEK  FORM  OF  MYSTIC  EXPEEIE:^CE      353 

what  the  experience  is  and  how  it  should  be  treated.  "  Mj  son, 
thou  art  not  able  always  to  persist  in  the  higher  pitch  of  contem- 
plation; but  thou  must  needs  sometimes  by  reason  of  original 
corruption  descend  to  inferior  things,  and  bear  the  burden  of 
this  corruptible  life,  though  against  thy  will  and  with  weari- 
someness.  ...  It  is  expedient  for  thee,  then,  to  flee  to  humble 
and  exterior  works,  and  to  refresh  thyself  with  good  actions ;  to 
expect  with  a  firm  confidence  My  coming  and  Heavenly  visita- 
tion; to  bear  patiently  thy  banishment  and  the  dryness  of  thy 
mind,  till  I  shall  again  visit  thee  and  set  thee  free  from  all 
anxieties."  ^^ 

The  more  positive  sort  of  mystic  pain  consists  not  merely  in 
lacking  the  joyous  sense  of  communion  but  in  a  rather  intense 
feeling  of  being  deserted  by  God  and  separated  from  Him. 
This  is  usually  connected  with  a  sense  of  sin  and  unworthiness 
and  contrition, —  some  of  the  more  intense  pre-conversion  phe- 
nomena belonging  here.  God  is  still  felt  (in  one  sense  at  least) 
—  that  is.  He  is  not  merely  believed  in  —  but  He  is  felt  as  far 
away  or  as  separated  from  one  by  a  barrier.  The  experience 
seems  to  be  comparable  to  that  of  the  mother  who  sees  her  child 
but  cannot  get  to  him  nor  take  him  in  her  arms, —  or,  better 
still,  perhaps,  it  is  like  that  of  the  child  who  sees  his  mother 
and  longs  for  her  embrace  but  cannot  reach  her.  So  the  mystic 
sometimes  "  wrestles  in  prayer ''  seeking  in  vain  to  regain  the 
lost  sense  of  peace  and  to  escape  the  ache  and  hollowness  of  a 
life  that  longs  for  God  and  apprehends  Him,  yet  cannot  come 
to  Him.  "  As  the  hart  panteth  after  the  water  brooks  so 
panteth  my  soul  after  Thee,  O  God.  My  soul  thirsteth  for  God, 
for  the  living  God ;  when  shall  I  come  and  appear  before 
God  ?  My  tears  have  been  my  meat  day  and  night,  while  they 
continually  say  unto  me  Where  is  thy  God  ?  These  things  I 
remember  and  pour  out  my  soul  within  me."  ^^  This  is  no  in- 
tellectual assent  to  the  proposition  that  God  is  far  away;  it  is 
a  genuinely  mystic  experience,  an  immediate  sense  of  separa- 
tion from  a  Being  who  yet  is  felt  as  in  some  way  present.  It 
belongs  not  to  the  theological  but  to  the  psychological  category. 

These  mystic  pains  do  not  come  to  all  the  mystics.     To  bor- 

21 "  The  Imitation  of  Christ,"  III,  51. 
22  Psalm  42,  1-4. 


354  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

row  an  expressive  word  from  Professor  James,  they  belong  to 
the  "  sick  soul."  The  "  healthy  minded  "  mystic  knows  little 
about  them.  Yet  few  of  us  are  healthy  minded  or  sick  of  soul 
all  the  time,  and  hence  both  the  joyous  and  the  painful  types 
of  emotion  are  to  be  found  at  least  incipiently  in  most  intensely 
relipous  persons.  In  fact  with  many  people  the  two  tend  to 
induce  and  replace  each  other,  according  to  the  almost  universal 
rhythmic  law  of  human  nature.  Moods  and  emotions  are  par- 
ticularly unstable  things  and  are  constantly  swinging  backward 
and  forward  in  pendulum  fashion.  So  it  comes  about  that  the 
man  whose  interest  and  thought  are  largely  centered  on  the  re- 
ligious life  often  finds  moments  of  intense  religious  joy  giving 
place  to  periods  of  "  dryness,"  and  still  more  often  does  the 
sense  of  sin  and  separation  from  God  drive  him  back  into  the 
experience  of  communion  and  the  "  joy  of  the  Lord." 

But  though  the  mystic  life  has  its  shadow  as  well  as  its  sun- 
shine, it  is  the  latter  which  gives  it  its  dominant  tone;  the 
joy  of  the  Lord  is  much  more  typical  of  it,  taken  as  a  whole, 
than  is  the  pain  of  separation.  And  it  is  by  the  light  and  in 
the  hope  and  memory  of  these  moments  of  joyous  communion 
that  many  a  mystic  lives.  What  determines  the  return  of  these 
moments  is  a  question  that  the  mystic  often  asks  himself.  And 
his  usual  conclusion  is  that  in  their  more  intense  form  they 
are  in  large  measure  beyond  his  control.  Something  may  in- 
deed be  done  to  prepare  oneself  for  them  and  to  break  down 
moral  conditions  which  would  inhibit  their  occurrence;  but  (as 
the  very  existence  of  the  periods  of  "  dryness  "  shows)  beyond 
that  the  experience  is  not  to  be  forced, —  it  bloweth  where  it  list- 
eth.  A  number  of  conditions  over  which  the  individual  has  no 
control  play  a  large  part  in  determining  the  recurrence  of  the 
mystic  state.  Prominent  among  these  are  age  and  health. 
There  is,  to  be  sure,  no  narrow  span  of  years  that  can  be  called 
the  mystic  age.  Yet  the  last  years  of  adolescence  seem  more 
productive  of  the  mystic  state  than  either  extreme  youth  or  age. 
This  is  due,  of  course,  to  the  absence  of  the  disturbing  conditions 
of  early  adolescence  and  of  the  weakening  effects  of  advanced 
years.^^     And  while  individuals  vary  greatly  and  no  minute 

23  Some  of  the  preat  saints  have  become  ecstatic  in  childhood,  accord- 
ing to  the  belief  of  the  Catholic  Church.     On  this  point  Poulain,  quoting 


MILDEK  FOEM  OF  MYSTIC  EXPERIE:N^CE      355 

laws  can  be  discovered  which  will  hold  for  all,  it  seems  clear 
that  for  any  given  individual  there  are  certain  conditions  of 
health  and  of  mental  and  bodily  vigor  which  for  him  are  best 
adapted  to  the  mystic  experience  and  largely  influence  it. 
These  conditions  vary,  as  I  have  said,  with  different  individuals. 
For  some  a  condition  of  rather  poor  health  seems  to  be  most 
propitious.  "  Health  draws  us  toward  external  objects,"  says 
Maine  de  Biran,  ''  sickness  leads  us  back  to  ourselves."  ^^  Even 
extreme  sickness  and  the  hour  of  death  itself  —  especially  if 
recognized  as  such  by  the  subject  —  are  often  accompanied  by 
the  sense  of  presence.  For  the  more  intense  forms  of  this  ex- 
perience, however,  either  a  fair  degree  of  health  or  the  stimulus 
and  excitement  of  a  great  hour  seem  to  be  requisite.  And  for 
probably  more  than  half  of  those  who  know  the  kind  of  mysti- 
cism dealt  with  in  this  chapter,  health  is  a  more  suitable  condi- 
tion than  sickness, —  for,  other  things  being  equal,  intense  emo- 
tion of  any  kind  is  most  likely  to  arise  when  bodily  vigor  is  at  its 
height.  And  though  health  draws  us  toward  external  objects 
and  away  from  self,  it  often  is  just  the  thought  of  self  that 
most  inhibits  the  enlargement  of  consciousness  which  the  mystic 
experiences.  This  explanation  in  fact  is  suggested  by  one  of 
my  respondents :  "  I  feel  the  presence  of  God  most  intensely 
when  feeling  'fine' — when  out  in  the  air,  on  a  mountain,  or 
bathing  in  the  ocean  at  night.  To  generalize,  I  think  the  feel- 
ing is  most  intense  when  in  the  presence  of  something  infinite 
enough  to  eliminate  totally  all  thoughts  of  self  or  of  finite 
things." 

As  this  last  quotation  indicates,  and  as,  in  fact,  every  one 
knows,  the  influence  of  beautiful  natural  scenery,  and  of 
music  or  poetry, —  of  anything,  in  short,  that  tends  to  arouse 
aesthetic  emotion  —  is  likely  in  religious  persons  to  induce,  in- 

from  Dr.  Imbert,  cites  four  who  had  their  first  ecstasy  at  four;  four  at 
six;  one  at  seven;  one  at  eleven;  one  at  fourteen;  one  at  eighteen;  one 
at  forty;  and  one  (St.  Teresa)  at  forty-three.  The  ecstasy  of  a  child 
of  four  or  six  years  is,  however,  something  which  may  well  be  questioned. 
And  of  course  even  if  we  accept  these  figures  at  their  face  value  there  ia 
nothing  in  them  inconsistent  with  the  view  expressed  above  that  the 
mystic  life  is  at  its  highest  in  late  adolescence,  for  the  precocious  mystic 
usually  continues  his  mysticism  through  the  rest  of  his  days. 

24  "  Maine  de  Biran,  Sa  Vie  et  ses  Pensees,"  edited  by  Naville   (Paris, 
Didier:  1874),  p.  7. 


356  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

directly,  religious  emotion.  For  many  there  is  almost  no  line 
between  the  Aesthetic  and  the  religions ;  for  others  the  emotion 
simply  shifts  its  center,  the  idea  of  the  divine  forcing  its  way 
into  the  mind  and  tlie  feeling  elements  which  were  already  pres- 
ent simply  crystallizing  about  it.  "  I  have  experienced  God's 
presence,"  writes  one  of  my  respondents ;  "  and  by  that  I  mean 
that  in  a  state  of  contemplation  or  under  the  influence  of  music 
or  of  superb  natural  scenery  I  have  been  lifted  out  of  myself  in 
a  state  of  pure  and  ecstatic  joy.  Not  one  of  oblivion  to  the 
external  world,  but  where  it  receded  into  the  background  of 
consciousness  or  fell  into  harmony  with  my  feeling  state  and 
became  a  unified  part  of  it."  Maine  de  Biran  writes  thus  in 
his  Journal:  "  May  17,  1815.  I  felt  this  evening  in  a  lonely 
walk,  with  wonderful  weather,  momentary  flashes  of  that 
ineffable  delight  which  seems  to  snatch  us  completely  away 
from  all  that  is  earthly  and  to  give  us  a  fore-taste  of  heaven. 
The  verdure  had  a  new  freshness  and  wais  glorified  with  the 
last  rays  of  the  setting  sun;  all  the  objects  were  animated  with 
a  soft  luster;  the  trees  gently  waved  their  majestic  tops.  .  .  . 
Over  all  the  impressions  and  the  vague  and  varied  images  that 
rose  from  the  presence  of  the  objects  and  from  my  feelings, 
there  hovered  that  sense  of  the  infinite  which  sometimes  trans- 
ports us  toward  a  world  superior  to  phenomena,  toward  that 
world  of  realities  which  is  in  touch  with  God,  the  first  and  sole 
reality.  It  seems  that  in  this  condition,  where  all  the  external 
and  internal  sensations  are  calm  and  joyous,  there  is  a  peculiar 
sentiment  adapted  to  celestial  things  and  which  is  destined,  per- 
haps, some  day  to  develop,  when  the  soul  shall  have  quitted  its 
mortal  vesture."  ^^ 

Thus  for  many  a  mystic  the  joy  of  nature  and  the  joy  of  the 
Lord  are  hardly  distinguishable,  and  neither  one  would  be  com- 
plete without  the  other.  Of  course  this  would  not  hold  of  all. 
The  mystic  brotherhood  may  be  divided  into  two  bands  on  the 
basis  of  their  delight  in  the  beautiful  or  their  lack  of  it; 
the  followers  of  Francis  of  Assisi,  and  the  followers  of 
Thomas  a  Kempis  we  might  call  them.  But  every  mystic  who 
finds  and  approves  of  delight  in  this  good  world  is  likely  to  re- 
gard the  experience  as  a  very  part  of  his  religion.     "  Your 

25  Op.  cit.,  p.  171. 


MILDER  FOEM  OF  MYSTIC  EXPERIEXCE      357 

enjoyment  of  the  world,"  writes  Thomas  Traherne,  "  is  never 
right  till  every  morning  you  awake  in  Heaven ;  see  yourself  in 
your  Father's  Palace;  and  look  upon  the  skies,  the  earth,  and 
the  air  as  Celestial  Joys ;  having  such  a  reverend  esteem  of  all, 
as  if  you  were  among  the  Angels.  .  .  .  You  never  enjoy  the 
world  aright  till  the  Sea  itself  floweth  in  your  veins,  till  you 
are  clothed  with  the  heavens  and  crowned  with  the  stars."  ^^ 

When  both  outer  and  inner  conditions  are  favorable  the  joy- 
ous sense  of  the  presence  of  the  divine  often  comes  quite  un- 
sought and  unexpected,  with  a  spontaneity  and  suddenness  that 
at  times  almost  astound  the  subject  of  it.  The  following  some- 
what lengthy  response  will  illustrate  both  this  and  several  other 
of  the  conditions  already  referred  to : 

"  It  is  always  hard  to  analyze  our  deepest  experiences  and 
put  the  result  into  words  which  cannot  be  misunderstood. 
Some  day  when  I  am  busy  at  work  a  dear  friend  enters  the 
room  without  my  hearing  the  footstep.  Before  I  am  aware 
that  any  physical  sense  has  registered  an  impression  and  while 
my  friend  is  still  out  of  my  range  of  vision,  her  personality 
breaks  into  my  consciousness.  Perhaps  this  may  illustrate  very 
faintly  the  feeling  of  God's  presence  that  has  sometimes  come. 
It  was  in  this  way  that  He  came  after  the  dark  two  years.  .  .  . 
To  please  those  dear  to  me,  I  had  finally  gone  to  church  one 
day.  It  was  a  little  country  church  with  none  of  the  modem 
accessories  to  worship.  Dr.  A.  J.  Gordon  preached  that  day, 
but  no  word  of  the  sermon  helped  at  all,  for  ^  my  heart  was  hot 
within  me '  in  rebellion  against  what  I  conceived  to  be  the  ex- 
isting order  of  things.  Mrs.  Gordon,  a  stranger  to  me,  that 
day  had  the  Sunday  school  class  into  which  I  felt  obliged  to 
go.  The  words  of  the  Scripture  lesson  came  to  me  with  a  good 
deal  of  force,  I  suppose  because  I  had  not  seen  them  for  so 
long,  but  I  do  not  remember  paying  much  attention  to  the  ex- 
planation. When  the  class  went,  Mrs.  Gordon  detained  me  to 
ask  two  or  three  questions.  I  must  have  given  very  vague 
and  unsatisfactory  answers,  for  I  certainly  would  not  then  have 
told  anyone  what  I  was  thinking,  although  I  wanted  the  truth 
more  than  anything  else  in  the  world.     At  last  she  knelt  beside 

26  "Centuries  of  Meditation,"  I,  28  and  29.      (Edited  and  published  by 
Bertram  Dobell,  London,  1908.) 


358  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

me  and  began  to  pray.  I  remember  thinking  it  all  something 
of  a  bore,  but  stayinc:  because  I  did  not  want  to  be  discourteous. 
I  cannot  now  remember  one  word  of  the  prayer,  and  do  not 
tliink  I  could  even  then  have  had  a  very  distinct  idea  of  what 
she  was  sa^ang,  because  it  all  seemed  to  have  very  little  to  do 
with  me;  but  in  the  midst  of  it  there  came  an  overwhelming 
sense  of  a  Presence  infinitely  pure  and  true  and  tender,  a  pres- 
ence that  broke  through  all  preconceived  notions  and  revealed 
itself  to  my  consciousness  in  such  beauty  and  power  that  after 
more  than  twenty-five  years  it  seems  to  me  the  one  real  thing 
in  my  whole  life.  There  was  no  physical  manifestation  or 
physical  sensation.  I  was  simply  a  soul  in  the  presence  of  the 
Soul  of  souls.  I  made  no  sign  and  spoke  no  word  of  this  to 
Mrs.  Gordon,  but  said  good-by  and  went  my  way;  nor  have  I 
ever  before  attempted  to  put  the  experience  into  words,  yet  it 
has  been  the  strongest  influence  of  my  whole  life. 

"  This  is  not,  however,  the  only  time  I  have  felt  sure  of  His 
presence,  but  the  definiteness  of  the  impression  varies  under 
different  conditions.  And  indeed  all  my  impressions  vary 
greatly  in  distinctness  according  to  the  state  of  my  physical 
health  and  the  urgency  of  other  matters  occupying  my  mind  at 
the  time.  Even  the  impression  of  the  presence  of  a  person 
known  to  be  in  the  room  varies  in  this  way.  Sometimes,  then, 
when  I  am  away  on  the  hills  or  in  the  woods  alone,  God  seems 
very  near ;  yet  even  then  there  is  not  the  sense  of  physical  near- 
ness, but  of  something  closer,  something  that  goes  deeper  and 
means  more.  It  is  then  that  my  soul  goes  out  to  Him  most 
fully,  and  that  I  am  nearest  to  freedom  from  the  limitations  of 
time  and  space  and  matter,  nearest  to  gaining  a  true  sense 
of  relative  values,  nearest  to  knowing  what  things  are  real  and 
lasting.  I  do  not  then  arrive  at  conclusions  through  any  process 
of  reasoning, —  I  simply  know  for  the  time." 

Any  emotion  which  like  the  aesthetic  is  free  from  self  tends 
in  religious  persons  to  lead  into  religious  emotion  and  get  it- 
self interpreted  in  religious  terms.  And  for  a  somewhat  simi- 
lar reason  sorrow  and  despair  often  tend  in  the  same  direction. 
Here,  to  be  sure,  the  self  is  not  forgotten,  as  is  the  case  in 
aesthetic  delight,  but  it  is  negated,  defeated,  overwhelmed.  The 
man  can  no  longer  trust  in  his  own  strength  nor  in  the  various 


MILDEK  FORM  OF  MYSTIC  EXPERIEITCE      359 

finite  sources  of  help  on  which  he  had  usually  relied ;  yet  trust 
he  must.  Help  must  come  from  somewhere  —  the  instinct  for 
life  demands  it.  And  so  the  despairing  soul  turns  to  what  it 
hopes  may  be  an  infinite  source  of  help.  Sometimes  it  fails  to 
find  help  there  too.  But  if  the  sufferer  has  a  natural  tendency 
toward  mysticism,  help  is  pretty  sure  to  come  in  the  sense  of 
the  presence  and  love  of  the  Divine,  and  in  a  new  trust  that 
somehow  all  is  well.  In  another  place  ^^  I  have  quoted  the 
words  of  one  of  my  respondents  who  writes  thus :  "  I  shall 
never  forget  the  feeling  of  the  presence  of  God  with  me  on  that 
night  when  all  alone  in  a  stranger's  house  on  the  hill  I  worked 
over  my  precious  child,  realizing  as  I  worked  that  I  could  not 
save  his  life  and  that  nothing  could.  I  could  almost  hear  the 
words,  ^  When  thou  passest  through  the  waters  I  will  be  with 
thee,'  —  and  in  the  dreadful  loneliness  and  anxiety  and  grief 
there  came  a  wonderful  peace  and  a  feeling  of  God's  presence 
that  I  am  very  certain  of." 

The  influences  mentioned  thus  far  which  condition  the  com- 
ing of  the  mystic  sense  are  largely  beyond  the  control  of  the  in- 
dividual's will.  But  while  it  is  true  that  this  experience  cometh 
where  and  when  it  listeth  and  can  never  be  forced,  there  are  still 
several  things  within  one's  power  which  tend  to  bring  about  posi- 
tively a  favorable  mental  condition  or  to  inhibit  antagonistic 
tendencies.  One  of  these  modes  of  "  waiting  on  the  Lord " 
commonly  urged  and  tested  by  mystics  of  many  centuries  is  the 
practice  of  solitude  and  silence.  ^^  Seek  a  convenient  time  to 
retire  into  thyself,"  says  Thomas  a  Kempis,  "  and  meditate 
often  upon  God's  loving  kindness.  .  .  .  He  that  intends  to  at- 
tain to  the  more  inward  and  spiritual  things  of  religion  must 
with  Jesus  depart  from  the  multitude  and  press  of  the  people. 
...  In  silence  and  in  stillness  a  religious  soul  advantageth  her- 
self and  leameth  the  mysteries  of  the  Holy  Scripture.  There 
she  findeth  rivers  of  tears,  wherein  she  may  every  night  wash 
and  cleanse  herself;  that  she  may  be  so  much  the  more 
familiar  with  her  Creator,  by  how  much  the  farther  off  she 
liveth  from  all  worldly  disquiet.  Whoso,  therefore,  withdraw- 
eth  himself  from  his  acquaintance  and  friends,  God  will  draw 
near  unto  him  with  His  holy  Angels."  ^^ 

2T  "  The  Psychology  of  Religious  Belief,"  p.  250. 
28  "  The  Imitation  of  Christ,"  I,  20. 


360  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

"  The  inward  silence  and  stillness,"  writes  Miss  Stephen, 
"  for  the  sake  of  which  we  value  and  practice  outward  silence 
is  a  very  diiTerent  thing  from  vacancy.  It  is  rather  the 
quiescence  of  a  perfectly  ordered  fullness  —  a  leaving  behind 
of  hurrying  outward  thoughts  and  an  entering  into  the  region 
of  central  calm.  And  let  us  remember  that  it  is  a  condition 
to  be  resolutely  sought  for,  not  a  merely  passive  state  into  which 
we  may  lapse  at  will.  In  seeking  to  be  still,  the  first  step  of 
necessity  is  to  exclude  all  disturbances  and  commotion  from 
without ;  but  this  is  not  all,  there  are  inward  disturbances  and 
commotions  to  be  subdued  with  a  strong  hand.  There  is  a 
natural  impulse  to  fly  from  the  presence  of  God  to  a  multitude 
of  distractions,  which  we  must  resolutelv  control  if  we  would 
taste  the  blessedness  of  conscious  nearness  to  Him.  I  believe 
it  often  is  the  case  that  the  ^vay  to  achieve  this  resolute  self- 
control  is  through  thought  —  through  a  deliberate  act  of  at- 
tention to  our  o^vn  highest  conceptions  of  the  nature  and  the 
will  of  Him  with  Whom  we  have  to  do."  ^^ 

In  similar  vein  the  abbe  Lejeune,  in  his  "  Introduction  a 
la  Vie  Mystique,"  urges  on  those  who  would  cultivate  the  mystic 
life,  the  regular  practice  of  prayer  and  the  attempt  to  realize 
constantly  the  presence  of  God  —  "  to  see  Him  by  the  eye  of 
faith  "  always  present,  or  better  still  to  feel  Him  always  within 
one.^^  One  may  go  about  one's  work  thinking  of  other  things 
and  actively  engaged ;  yet  the  thought  of  God's  presence  may 
be  continually  in  the  background  on  one's  mind  guiding  one's 
impulses  and  coloring  one's  feelings.  But  though  this  is  quite 
possible  —  at  least  for  many  people  —  let  no  one  think  it  an 
easy  matter.^  ^  It  goeth  not  forth  save  by  fasting  and  prayer, — 
to  gain  this  constant  sense  of  the  indwelling  of  God  one  must 
go  through  a  course  of  careful  self-training.  It  can  no  more 
be  attained  without  preliminary  effort  than  can  skill  in  piano 
playing  or  the  ability  constantly  to  see  double  images.  Like 
any  other  mental  habit  it  must  be  cultivated  in  accordance  with 
the  regular  laws  of  the  mind,  and  this  cultivation  requires 
both  effort  and  persistence. 

In  addition  to  silence  and  meditation,  repentance  and  con- 

29  Op.  cit.,  p.  65. 

30  Op.  cit.,  Chaps.  II  and  III. 

31  Cf.  Lejeune,  op.  cit.,  pp.  83-90. 


MILDEE  FORM  OF  MYSTIC  EXPERIENCE      a61 

trition  and  effort  for  moral  purity  should  also  be  mentioned  as 
means  frequently  used  by  the  more  determined  mystics  for 
bringing  themselves  into  the  desired  mental  state.  '^  Give  thy- 
self to  compunction  of  heart/'  says  Thomas  a  Kempis,  "  and 
thou  shalt  gain  much  devotion  thereby."  ^^  As  sin  in  any  form 
is  (at  least  while  being  indulged  in)  extremely  antagonistic 
to  the  religious  mood,  the  struggle  against  it  is  a  prime  re- 
quisite. Prayer,  religious  music,  and  reading  from  the  Bible 
and  devotional  literature  are  also  found  helpful  for  gaining  and 
retaining  the  ''  joy  of  the  Lord."  Several  of  these  means  are 
illustrated  in  the  following  account  from  one  of  my  respondents 
of  the  way  she  sought  to  regain  and  keep  her  new-found  ex- 
perience of  inner  happiness: — "I  think  I  was  just  thirteen 
when  one  night  for  a  moment  there  came  a  feeling  of  great 
peace  or  rest.  I  almost  held  my  breath,  hoping  to  keep  it, 
but  it  was  gone,  and  left  only  the  memory,  which  became  an 
ideal  for  whose  realization  I  began  to  hope  and  work.  ...  It 
may  have  been  Miss  Havergal's  word  about  '  the  permanence 
of  the  joy  of  the  Lord '  that  gave  me  the  assurance  that  such 
a  feeling  of  peace  ought  to  be  constant  instead  of  coming  in 
flashes.  It  came  to  me  only  in  that  last  way  at  first  and  I  could 
not  find  a  cause  that  would  always  produce  them,  and  yet  I 
remember  feeling  that  they  must  be  governed  by  some  law, 
and  that  if  I  could  only  find  that  law  I  could  reproduce  them 
at  will.  .  .  .  One  day  I  found  in  an  old  commentary  a  descrip- 
tion of  my  experience,  and  it  gave  me  as  its  cause  absolute 
obedience  to  God.  I  had  already  felt  that  study  of  His  Word 
and  prayer  had  a  great  deal  to  do  with  the  coming  of  the 
peace.  .  .  .  Gradually  by  spending  some  time  alone  each  day 
the  experiences  became  longer  and  perhaps  less  intense.  They 
were  best  expressed  by  the  word  peace,  and  I  began  to  know  that 
I  might  always  have  the  feeling  if  I  would  instantly  do  the 
right  as  I  saw  it  and  would  save  time  for  quiet  study.  I  found 
that  when  actual  necessity  interfered  with  that,  the  peace 
would  not  go ;  but  carelessness  would  always  drive  it  away."  ^^ 
It  will  be  noticed  that  as  the  "  peace  "  came  more  and  more 
under  the  control  of  my  respondent's  will,  it  changed  in  type, 

32  "  Imitation,"  I,  21. 

33  Quoted  in  my  "  Psychology  of  Religious  Belief,"  pp.  225-26. 


362  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

becoming  ''  longer  and  perhaps  less  intense."  The  more  intense 
experience  is  probably  never  at  the  individuaPs  command.  But 
the  constant  peace,  the  certainty  that  God  is  near,  that  under- 
neath are  the  everlasting  arms,  and  that  one's  life  is  under  Ilis 
continued  guidance, —  this  is  for  many  men  and  women  an  ac- 
tuality, conditioned  only  upon  their  following  the  moral  guid- 
ance which  their  consciences  give,  and  keeping  their  ears  always 
open  for  the  divine  voice.  By  living  as  though  God  were  pres- 
ent they  have  and  keep  the  constant  assurance  that  He  is  present. 

This  mild  and  constant  sense  of  the  Divine  is  consistent  with 
great  activity  and  can  abide  with  many  people  through  a  large 
part  of  the  working  day.  The  ability  to  retain  it  while  think- 
ing intently  on  other  things  will  of  course  vary  with  the  indi- 
vidual. One  of  the  chief  ways  in  which  individual  minds 
differ  is  in  the  relative  amount  and  importance  of  the  fringe 
region.  With  the  extreme  rationalistic  type  whose  thought  is 
always  clear  and  for  whom  everything  has  its  definite  and  neat 
place,  the  margin  is  very  narrow  and  has  but  little  influence. 
The  opposite  type  of  mind  has  less  power  of  concentration  and 
a  correspondingly  broader  field,  running  out  into  a  wide  back- 
ground. The  former  of  these  types  seldom  produces  mystics, 
and  for  it  the  business  of  life  will,  at  least  during  the  working 
day,  crowd  out  the  sense  of  the  Divine.  The  mind  with  the 
wider  margin,  however,  will  have  room  for  both  things  at  once. 
Thus  practical  activity  and  the  mystic  sense  prove  by  no  means 
incompatible. 

So  much  for  the  milder  form  of  mysticism.  In  our  next 
chapter  we  must  attack  the  more  difficult  problem  of  the  great 
mystics  and  their  experience. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

THE    "  MYSTICS  "    AND    THEIR    METHODS 

In  that  great  fountain-liead  of  mysticism^  tlie  Enneads,  Plo- 
tinus  writes  of  his  own  experience  as  follows : 

"  Now  often  I  am  roused  from  the  body  to  my  true  self,  and 
emerge  from  all  else  and  enter  myself,  and  behold  a  marvelous 
beauty,  and  am  particularly  persuaded  at  the  time  that  I  be- 
long to  a  better  sphere,  and  live  a  supremely  good  life,  and 
become  identical  with  the  Godhead,  and  fast  fixed  therein  at- 
tain its  divine  activity,  having  reached  a  plane  above  the  whole 
intelligible  realm;  and  then  after  this  sojourn  in  the  Godhead 
I  descend  from  the  intelligible  world  to  the  plane  of  discursive 
thought.  And  after  I  have  descended  I  am  at  a  loss  to  know 
how  it  is  that  I  have  done  so,  and  how  my  soul  has  entered 
into  my  body,  in  view  of  the  fact  that  she  really  is  as  her  inmost 
nature  was  revealed,  and  yet  is  in  the  body." 

"  The  soul  has  naturally  a  love  of  God  and  desires  to  be 
united  with  Him.  ...  In  the  higher  world  we  find  the  true 
Beloved  with  whom  it  is  possible  for  us  to  unite  ourselves  when 
we  have  seized  and  held  it,  because  it  is  not  clothed  with  flesh 
and  blood.  He  who  has  beheld  this  Beloved  knows  the  truth 
of  what  I  say,  how  the  soul  then  receives  a  new  life  when  she 
has  gone  forth  to  it,  and  come  to  it  and  participated  in  it,  so 
that  in  her  new  condition  she  knows  that  the  giver  of  true 
life  is  beside  her  and  she  needs  nothing  else.  .Such  a  onel 
knows  also,  however,  that  we  must  put  all  else  away,  and  abide  ' 
in  the  Beloved  alone  and  become  only  it,  stripping  off  all  else 
that  wraps  us  about;  and  hence  that  we  must  hasten  to  come 
forth  from  the  things  of  this  world  and  be  wroth  at  the  bonds 
which  bind  us  to  them,  to  the  end  that  we  may  embrace  the 
Beloved  with  all  our  soul  and  have  no  part  of  us  left  with  whicK 
we  do  not  touch  God.,,  It  is  possible  for  us  even  while  here  in 
the  body  to  behold  both  Him  and  ourselves  in  such  wise  as  it 
is  lawful  for  us  to  see.     Ourselves  we  see  illumined,  full  of  the 

363 


364  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

light  of  the  intelligible,  or  rather  as  that  very  light  itself,  pure, 
without  heaviness,  upward  rising.  Vorily  we  see  ourselves  as 
made,  nay,  as  being  God  Himself.  Then  it  is  that  we  are 
kindlf^d.  But  when  we  sink  to  earth  again  we  are,  as  it  were, 
put  out. 

"  It  is  a  bold  thing  to  say,  but  in  the  vision  a  man  does  not 
see,  or  if  he  sees  he  does  not  distinguish  what  he  sees  from 
himself  nor  fancy  that  there  are  two  —  the  seer  and  the  seen. 
On  the  contrary  it  is  by  becoming  as  it  were  another  than  him- 
self, and  by  neither  being  himself  nor  belonging  to  himself  that 
he  attains  the  vision.  And  having  surrendered  himself  to  it  he 
beeomes  one  with  it,  as  the  centers  of  two  circles  might  coincide. 
For  these  centers  when  they  coincide  become  one,  and  when  the 

Lcircles  are  separated  there  are  two  centers  again./  And  it  is  in 
this  sense  that  we  too  speak  of  a  difference.  It  follows  that  the 
vision  is  hard  to  describe.  For  how  could  a  man  report  as  some- 
thing different  from  himself  that  which  at  the  time  of  his  vision 
he  did  not  see  as  different  but  as  one  with  himself? 

"  Now  since  in  the  vision  there  are  not  two,  but  the  seer  is 
made  one  with  the  seen,  not  as  with  something  seen  but  as 
with  something  made  one  with  himself,  he  who  has  been  united 
with  it  may,  if  he  remembers,  keep  by  him  some  faint  image 
of  the  divine./  He  himself  was  one   (in  the  vision),  with  no 

Pdistinctions  within  himself  either  as  regarded  himself  or  outer 
things.  There  was  no  movement  of  any  sort  in  him,  nor  was 
emotion  or  desire  of  any  outer  thing  present  in  him  after 
his  ascent,  no,  nor  any  reason  or  any  thought,  nor  was  he  him- 
self present  to  himself,  if  I  may  so  express  it ;  but  as  wrapt  and 
inspired  he  rested  isolated  in  his  unmoved  and  untroubled  es- 
sence, inclining  nowhere  and  not  even  reflecting  upon  himself, 
at  rest  in  all  respects,  yea  as  if  he  had  become  rest  itself.  Nor 
did  he  concern  himself  with  the  beautiful,  but  had  passed  be- 
yond beauty  and  had  transcended  the  §eries  of  virtues  as  one 

\  might  penetrate  into  the  holy  of  holiesp  leaving  behind  in  the 
temple  the  statues  of  the  Gods.  And  these  he  would  not  see 
again  till  he  came  out  after  having  had  the  vision  of  what  lay 
within  and  communion  there  with  what  was  no  statue  or  image 
but  the  divine  itself  —  of  which  the  statues  were  but  secondarv 
images.     Or  perhaps  his  experience  was  not  a  vision  but  some 


THE  "  MYSTICS  ''  AND  THEIR  METHODS      365 

other  kind  of  seeing,  ecstasy  and  simplification  and  self-sur- 
render, a  yearning  to  touch,  and  a  rest  and  a  thought  centered 
upon  being  merged  in  the  divine."  ^ 

I  have  quoted  this  passage  at  length  both  because  of  its  his- 
torical position  and  its  influence  upon  the  mystic  tradition,^ 
and  also  because  it  is  in  itself  an  admirable  description  of  the 
mystic  experience  of  the  more  intense  sort;  and  thus  puts  be- 
fore us  at  the  very  outset  a  classical  example  of  the  thing  v^e 
are  to  study  in  this  and  the  following  chapters.  There  is,  of 
course,  no  hard  and  fast  line  separating  the  milder  from  the 
more  intense  forms  of  the  mystic  experience,  although  the  dis- 
tinction between  the  two  is  (as  I  have  tried  to  show)  a  use- 
ful one.  The  intense  mysticism  of  the  great  saints  is  merely 
an  extension  of  the  kind  of  experience  studied  in  the  last  chap- 
ter. All  truly  religious  men  love  God  after  some  fashion  or 
other ;  and,  Us  Joly  puts  it,  "  the  ^  mystic '  par  excellence  is  a  | 
man  whose  entire  life  is  enveloped  and  penetrated  by  the  love  of  A 
God."  ^  "  The  saint,"  says  Father  Tyrrell,  "  differs  from  the  ! 
ordinary  Christian  not  in  his  mysticism  but  in  the  degree  of 
his  mvsticism.  .  .  .  The  difference  is  that  between  the  seed  and 
the  flower.  But  because  there  is  real  continuity  and  sameness 
of  kind,  the  saint  is  intelligible  to  us  in  that  which  is  the  very 
essence  of  his  sanctity."  ^ 

Yet  although  the  transition  from  the  experience  of  the  or- 
dinary religious  man  to  that  of  the  saint  is  gradual  and  involves 
no  leap,  it  is  convenient  to  make  the  distinction ;  and  the  dis- 
tinction becomes  not  only  convenient  but  essential  to  a  real 
understanding  of  mysticism  when  the  experience  of  "  the  mystic 
par  excellence  "  is  carried  to  its  extreme  —  for  then  we  are 

1  Quoted  from  the  fourth  and  sixth  books  of  the  Enneads  in  Bakewell's 
"Source  Book  in  Ancient  Philosophy"  (New  York,  Scribner's:  1907). 
pp.  386,  389-92. 

2  Plotinus's  description  is  obviously  based  upon  his  own  personal  expe- 
rience; and  this  experience  seems  to  have  been  (so  far,  at  least,  as  we 
can  see)  uninfluenced  by  imitation  but  quite  spontaneous  in  its  nature. 
As  such  it  set  an  example  for  all  Neoplatonic  mysticism  and  served  as  a 
text  for  Neoplatonic  writers.  Through  "  Dionysius  and  Areopagite " 
and  Scotus  Erigena,  his  translator,  the  torch  was  passed  on  into  Chris- 
tianity; so  that  Plotinus  may  in  some  sense  be  called  the  father  of  Chris- 
tian mysticism. 

3  "  Psychologie  des  Saints"  (Paris,  Gabolda:  1008),  p.  43. 
*''The  Faith  of  the  Millions"  (London,  Longmans:  1902),  p.  261. 


366  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

faced  with  a  difTcrcnce  in  degree  so  great  as  to  become  a  posi- 
tive difference  in  kind.  The  milder  form  of  mysticism  is 
shared  by  a  very  large  number  of  people  and  is  quite  possible 
though  latent  for  a  great  many  more.  As  the  experience  be- 
comes more  intense,  however,  it  is  found  in  constantly  decreas- 
ing measure.",   It  is  not  fbr  every  one;  and  a  somewhat  uncom- 

(  mon  disposition  or  temperament  to  start  with  is,  for  the  more 
extreme  forms  of  mysticism,  quite  essential.     This  disposition 

I   is  in  part  the  result  of  education  but  is  chiefly  congenital. 

r  The  religious  mystic  of  the  more  intense  type  carries  to  an 
extreme  two  characteristics  which  have  often  been  noticed  and 

I   pointed  out  not  only  in  the  mystic  of  the  milder  sort  but  in 

I  various  kinds  of  non-religious  mysticism.  I  refer  to  the  mys- 
tic's demand  for  immediacy  and  his  love  of  the  romantic.  For 
him  the  mediate,  the  merely  reasoned,  the  conceptual  and  dis- 
cursive is  relatively  valueless.     He  regards  conceptual  knowl- 

j  edge  as  ever  unsatisfying  or  meaningless,  and  immediate  expe- 

I  ricnce  as  the  only  trustworthy  guide  and  the  only  solid  satis- 

[faction.^ 

/  It  is  for  him  the  only  trustworthy  guide  because  it  is  the  only 
solid  satisfaction.  And  this  brings  us  to  the  second  of  the  two 
characteristics  of  the  mystic  to  which  I  have  referred.  The 
mystic  is  essentially  a  romanticist.  By  saying  this  I  mean  that 
he  exhibits  in  a  large  degree  that  confidence  in  emotion  and 

l^  imagination  which  are  at  the  bottom  of  romanticism.     He  is 

5  This  characteristic  of  the  mystic  has  been  frequently  expounded, — 
perhaps  best  by  Royce  in  "  The  World  and  the  Individual,"  Vol.  I,  Lectures 
IV  and  V.  The  attitude  of  the  mystic,  with  his  love  for  immediacy,  to- 
wards all  sorts  of  discursive  thought  and  mere  conceptual  knowledge  has 
seldom  been  better  expressed  than  in  Walt  WTiitman's  poem, 

"  When  I  heard  the  learn'd  astronomer, 
When  the  proofs,  the  figures  were  ranged  in  columns  before  me, 
When  I  was  shown  the  charts  and  diagrams,  to  add,  divide,  and 

measure  them, 
\\lien  I  sitting  heard  the  astronomer  where  he  lectured  with  much 

applause  in  the  lecture-room, 
How  soon  unaccountable  I  became  tired  and  sick. 
Till  rising  and  gliding  out  I  wander'd  ofT  by  myself 
In  the  mystical  moist  night  air,  and  from  time  to  time, 
Looked  up  in  perfect  silence  at  the  stars." 


THE  "  MYSTICS  "  AND  THEIR  METHODS      367 

usually  gifted  with  more  intense  feelings  and  more  vivid  imag- 
ination than  are  most  people,  and  as  is  natural  the  two  run  to- 
gether in  most  indistinguishable  fashion.  Not  only  are  his  feel- 
ings and  imaginings  intense  but  his  confidence  in  them  is 
usually  considerable,  and  he  often  makes  a  deliberate  effort  to 
cultivate  both.^  Their  intensity  and  his  confidence  in  them 
mutually  reinforce  each  other,  and  the  result  is  what  psychol- 
ogists call  a  "  circular  process  "  —  his  emotional  life  and  his  I 
faith  in  it  increasing  with  the  years. 

In  the  greater  religious  mystics  the  emotional  temperament 
common  to  mystics  of  every  school  expresses  itself  (partly  as  a 
result  of  early  training)  in  an  intense  love  for  the  Divine,  the 
Perfect,  the  Absolute,  conceived  perhaps  clearly,  perhaps  very 
vaguely.  This  love  felt  by  the  mystic,  with  its  accompanying 
aspiration,  is  of  course  a  gradual  growth.  Its  starting  point, 
says  Boutroux,  "  is  a  state  of  the  soul  which  it  is  difficult  to  de- 
fine, but  which  is  characterized  well  enough  by  the  German 
word  SeJinsucht.  It  is  a  state  of  desire,  vague,  and  disturbed, 
very  real,  and  liable  to  be  very  intense  as  a  passion  of  the  soul ; 
very  indeterminate,  or  rather  very  inexplicable,  as  regards  both 
its  object  and  its  cause.  It  is  an  aspiration  towards  an  un- 
known object,  towards  a  good  which  the  heart  imperatively  de- 
mands and  which  the  mind  cannot  conceive.  Such  a  state 
may  indeed  be  found  in  men  of  very  different  characters,  and 
may  have  very  different  degrees  of  significance.  In  the  mystic 
it  is  profound  and  lasting ;  it  works  in  the  soul,  which  gradually 
forms  for  itself  an  idea  of  the  object  of  its  aspiration.  This 
revelation  is  not  direct.  But,  more  or  less  suddenly,  accord- 
ing to  the  individual  experience,  the  things  amongst  which  we 
live,  things  about  which  we  thought  we  had  formed  stable  judg- 
ments, appear  to  us  in  another  light.  The  things  that  charmed 
us  lose  their  color;  the  things  we  had  admired  seem  debased; 
our  dearest  affections  cease  to  fill  our  hearts.  The  things  of  the 
world  no  longer  hold  us;  each  of  them  now  awakens  in  us 
the  idea  of  its  opposite.  In  all  the  objects  presented  to  our 
sight  we  see  only  the  distortion,  the  empty  image,  wan  and  dead, 

6  The    spiritual    exercises   of    Loyola,    for    example,    and    the    systematic  A 
meditations  of  the  Indian  Yogin,  are  scientific  methods  of  cultivating  both   \ 
imagination  and  emotion,  / 


368  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 


( 


of  the  living  idea  perfect  and  definite,  which  sensible  realities 
are  powerless  to  express.  We  conceive,  as  the  supreme  object 
of  our  desires,  the  infinite,  the  eternal,  the  perfect  —  God. 
And  reflecting  upon  the  feeling  which  was  the  starting  point  of 
this  conception,  we  can  understand  why  the  desire  was  tinged 
with  disquiet,  why  we  could  neither  escape  from  this  feeling  nor 
satisfy  it.  It  was  the  still  unconscious  idea  of  an  infinite 
object,  which  was  creating  an  indefinable  dissatisfaction  in 
our  consciousness  with  regard  to  the  possession  of  all  finite 
objects.  It  is  in  the  passing  of  this  idea  from  the  region  of  the 
unconscious  to  that  of  distinct  consciousness  that  the  first  phase 

I   of  mystical  development  consists."  '^ 

y     This  love  for  God  becomes  at  last  an  intense  longing  for 

j  union  with  God.  No  barrier  must  be  allowed  to  remain  be- 
tween the  soul  and  its  Master;  oneness  with  Him  comes  to  be 
regarded  as  the  supreme  goal  of  all  life  and  all  effort.  The 
pleasant  tone  of  the  milder  form  of  religious  experience  with 
which  the  mystic  began  now  fails  to  satisfy,  or  only  intensifies 
his  thirst  for  deeper  draughts  of  the  Divine.  He  learns  from 
the  Church  or  from  older  mystics  that  actual  union  with  God 
is  possible,  and  nothing  short  of  that  will  now  satisfy  his  eager 

Oove. 

This  love  for  God,  though  resulting  in  keen  desire  for  union 
with  Him  for  its  own  sake,  is  in  most  respects  essentially  un- 
selfish. The  typical  mystic  is  filled  with  an  almost  fanatical 
moral  earnestness.  As  a  rule  he  cherishes  the  ideal  of  service 
to  God  for  its  own  sake,  regardless  of  reward  and  blind  to 
dangers,  with  the  passionate  cry,  ^'  Though  He  slay  me  yet 
will  I  trust  in  Him."  Leuba  ^  has  well  pointed  out  that  al- 
though the  mystics  seek  the  joyous  experience  of  the  ecstasy,  it 
is  less  for  its  own  sake  than  because  they  regard  it  as  a  means 
of  advancement  in  the  moral  life  and  the  service  of  God.  They 
love  God  and  righteousness  for  their  own  sakes,  not  for  the  joy 
that  comes  from  the  love.     Their  strenuous  effort  for  holiness 

I  in  themselves  and  in  others  is  impulsive  rather  than  delibera- 

7  "  La  Psycholog:ie  du  "Nfysticisme."  in  the  Retnie  Bteue  for  March  15, 
1902,  and  translated  by  Miss  Crum  for  the  International  Journal  of  Ethics, 
XVIU,  182-195. 

8 "  Tendences  Fondamentales  des  Mystiques  Chretiens."  Revue  Philo- 
sophique,  LIV,  1-36. 


THE  "  MYSTICS  "  AJ^D  THEIK  METHODS      369 

tive ;  tliey  struggle  against  evil  not  in  order  to  obtain  some  fu- 
ture joyous  condition  but  because  they  must. 

In  addition  to  this  emotional  and  moral  ardor,  wbich  is  char- 
acteristic of  most  of  the  Christian  mystics,  there  is  to  be  found 
in  the  more  extreme  cases,  at  least,  a  somewhat  uncommon  if 
not  incipiently  pathological  condition  of  the  nervous  system, 
which  manifests  itself  sometimes  in  physical  disturbances, 
sometimes  in  a  tendency  toward  mental  dissociation.  St. 
Teresa,  in  many  respects  a  very  typical  mystic  of  the  more  ex- 
treme sort,  was  throughout  her  life  in  vnretched  health,  and  was 
subject  to  recurrent  attacks  of  illness,  all  of  which  were  evi- 
dently augTuented  by  her  state  of  nervous  instability.^  The 
same  peculiar  psycho-physical  organization  is  apparent  in  most 
of  the  ecstatics.^^  The  bodily  pathological  conditions  of  the 
mystics  vary  considerably,  and  a  careful  study  and  comparison 
of  them  might  prove  interesting.^^  They  do  not,  however, 
bear  upon  our  problem.     Much  more  important  for  our  pur- 

9  Her  autobiography  is  full  of  such  things  as  the  following:  "To  dis- 
pose me  toward  the  profession  which  was  best  for  me  the  Lord  sent  me 
a  great  illness.  .  .  .  My  health  continued  poor  and  I  had  great  weakness 
as  well  as  fever.  .  .  .  The  change  in  my  manner  of  life  and  nourishment 
affected  my  health;  my  weakness  increased  and  my  heart  trouble  was  ex- 
tremely great.  Thus  I  passed  the  first  year  [in  the  convent].  My  illness 
was  so  great  that  I  was  only  partly  conscious  much  of  the  time  and  some- 
times lost  consciousness  altogether.  ...  In  the  month  of  August  I  was 
taken  with  a  fainting  fit  which  lasted  four  days  without  any  return  of 
consciousness;  and  they  were  so  sure  I  was  dead  that  when  I  regained  con- 
sciousness I  found  on  my  eyes  the  wax  of  the  candle  which  they  had  used 
to  see  if  I  were  living."     Etc.,  etc.,  etc. 

10  Cf .,  e.g.,  Baron  von  Hiigel's  account  of  St.  Catherine  of  Genoa  — 
"The  INIystical  Element  in  Religion."  Part  II.  See  also  his  treatment  of 
Ezekiel,  St.  Paul  and  other  mystics,  Vol.  II,  pp.  42-47. 

11  Duprat  regards  mysticism  as  originating  from  a  sense  of  the  mys- 
terious which  comes  with  a  physical  or  psychological  transformation  of 
the  self,  and  hence  as  having  always  a  psychopathological  origin.  "  Dans 
tous  nous  trouvons  comme  point  de  depart,  un  trouble  profond  de  la  per- 
sonality. '  Troubles  physiologiques,  troubles  de  la  connaissance  des  choses 
et  des  hommes,  conscience  vague  de  ces  processus  anormaux,  voila  dit, 
avec  raison,  M.  Revault  d'Allonnes,  les  mat^riaux  du  sentiment  morbide 
du  mystere!  '  II  faut  aller  plus  loin;  voiliY  les  causes  du  sentiment  mys- 
tique primitif.  .  .  .  JI  faut,  done,  pour  que  le  sentiment  mystique  prenne 
naissance,  qu'un  desarroi  psycho-physiologique  survienne  chez  des  etres  en 
voie  d'integration  mentale,  en  equilibre  instable  surtout  au  point  de  vue 
de  la  conception  du  monde  et  de  ses  relations  avec  le  moi."  "  Religiosity 
et  Mysticisme,"  Revue  Philosophique,  LXVIII,  September,  1909,  pp.  276- 
83. 


370  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

poses  is  the  mental  state  which  is  common  to  so  many  of  the 
more  extreme  mvstics.^^ 

It  would  be  dangerous  to  attempt  to  generalize  very  far  on 
the  mental  conditions  of  the  mystics.  If  any  general  statement 
could  be  found  which  would  be  exactly  tnie  of  all  the  mystics 
it  would  probably  have  to  be  so  broad  as  to  be  quite  uninstruc- 
tive.  The  majority,  however,  of  the  ecstatic  type  of  mystic 
do  possess  certain  commoji  mental  traits  which  it  will  be  worth 

rour  while  to  examine.  ^If  all  mankind  should  be  divided  into 
two  classes,  the  mystical  and  the  non-mystical,  one  of  the  chief 
distinctions  that  could  be  made  out  between  them  would  prob- 
ably be  based  upon  the  relative  importance  of  the  margin  and  the 
center  of  consciousness.  The  non-mystical  type,  as  I  pointed  out 
in  the  last  chapter,  seems,  on  the  whole,  to  have  a  narrower  mar- 
ginal region  than  has  the  mystical,  and  consequently  in  it  the 
immediate  object  of  attention  is  of  greater  relative  importance. 
In  the  mystic  ecstasy,  to  be  sure,  consciousness  is  narrowed  to  a 
small  point,  as  we  shall  see,  but  this  narro\\Tiess  of  the  conscious 
field  is  not  the  usual  state  of  the  mystic  in  his  non-ecstatic  con- 
dition. In  this  latter  state,  (so  far  at  least  as  I  can  make  out) 
the  marginal  region  is  relatively  broad  and  particularly  influ- 
ential. The  working  of  his  mind  is  largely  guided  by  feeling 
and  by  ideas  rising  out  of  the  fringe,  while  his  non-mystical 
brother  lives  a  life,  perhaps,  of  clearer  thought, —  passing  rap- 
idly from  one  concentrated  field  of  attention  to  another, —  or, 
it  mav  be,  merelv  a  life  of  dull  routine  and  customarv  action, 
in  which  the  content  of  consciousness  is  determined  almost  en- 
V__tirely  by  sense  impressions  and  habitual  associations,  unenliv- 

12  The  more  extremely  pathological  cases  merge,  of  course,  into  actual 
insanity,  so  that  it  would  be  hard  to  draw  a  clear  line  between  patholog- 
ical mysticism  and  mystical  pathology.  Religious  paranoia  sometimes  re- 
sults in  phenomena  quite  comparable  to  those  of  extreme  mysticism.  Cf. 
the  following  description  of  this  variety  of  insanity  from  Kraft-Ebbing: 
"  Sometimes  feelings  of  the  sinful  body  being  permeated  by  the  divine 
breath  come  into  consciousness,  and  in  these  states  remove  the  individual 
from  earthly  interests  and  cares.  A  feeling  of  beatitude  invades  the  pa- 
tient as  if  the  Holy  Ghost  had  come  over  them;  in  women  at  the  same  time 
there  is  very  frequently  sexual  excitement  even  with  feelings  of  coitus, 
which  find  their  expression  later  in  delusions  of  immaculate  conception. 
In  these  states  of  ecstasy  cataleptiform  s.^mptoms  may  occur"  (p.  404). 
"Text  Book  of  Insanity"  (Philadelphia,  Davis:  1904). 


THE  "  MYSTICS  ''  AND  THEIR  METHODS      371 

ened  by  any  of  the  surprises  that  come  from  the  products  of  the 
marginal  region. 

This  breadth  of  consciousness,  which  is  characteristic  of  mys- 
ticism of  both  the  mild  and  the  intense  kind,  is  sometimes  asso- 
ciated, especially  among  intense  natures,  with  a  painful  lack 
of  inner  unity  and  a  great  longing  for  it.  To  be  sure  we  all 
lack  perfect  unity  and  we  sometimes  long  for  it  —  this  is  a 
characteristic  of  the  moral  struggle  everywhere.  But  in  the 
individual  of  mystic  tendencies  it  is  more  pronounced  than  in 
the  relatively  simpler  and  more  concentrated  type  of  mind.y 
Hegel  finds  in  it  one  of  the  leading  characteristics  of  the  awak- 
ening religious  consciousness.^^  In  another  connection  we  saw 
it  illustrated  in  a  man  so  far  removed  from  the  extreme  form 
of  mysticism  as  Maine  de  Biran.  And  in  those  individuals  i 
who  are  destined  to  become  ecstatics  this  lack  of  unity  is  often 
very  pronounced  and  is  sometimes  described  as  a  state  of  dis-^ 
traction. ,.  Murisier,  although  misleading  if  his  descriptions  are 
taken  to  apply  to  the  ordinary  forms  of  mysticism,  gives  a  fairly 
accurate  idea  of  the  mental  state  of  the  more  extreme  type,  writ- 
ing of  it  as  follows : 

"  It  is  an  exaggerated  state  of  incoherence  and  instability,  a 
perpetual  conflict  of  psychic  elements  which  never  succeed  in 
getting  into  harmony.  Hence  comes  a  feeling  of  malaise  and 
a  constantly  growing  desire  to  join  oneself  to  a  superhuman 
power  capable  of  assuring  one,  in  place  of  external  protection 
and  material  advantages,  repose,  inner  peace,  deliverance."  ^^ 

Connected  with  this  state  of  distraction,  and  perhaps  only 
an  outgrowth  or  exaggeration  of  it,  is  a  tendency  in  the  more 
extreme  ecstatics  toward  mental  dissociation.  It  can  hardly 
be  doubted  that  many  of  the  mystics  have  been  at  least  incipi- 
ently  hysteric.  Either  the  marginal  region  or  the  subconscious 
or  unconscious  processes  have  so  developed  as  to  function  in 
part  independently  of  the  normal  center  of  consciousness  and 
hence  give  the  mystic  the  impression  of  an  external  power  which 
he  cannot  recognize  as  in  any  sense  his  own.  The  extreme  con- 
dition, however,  of  a  split-off  consciousness  is  by  no  means  uni- 

13  "  Die  Philnomenologie  de8  Geistes,"  IV,  B. 

i*"Les  Maladies  du  Sentiment  Religieux  "   (Paris,  Alcan:   1903),  p.  20. 


^ 


y 


372  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

vcrsal  with  tlie  mystics ;  and  it  is,  in  my  opinion,  an  absurd 
exaggeration  to  identify  mysticism  (even  of  the  more  intense 
type)  as  Murisier  and  Duprat  seem  to  do,  with  a  disintegration 
of  the  personality.  If  the  temptation  of  the  theologian  is  to 
interpret  mysticism  as  a  supernatural  phenomenon,  the  tempta- 
tion of  the  psychologist  (no  less  strong  and  no  less  dangerous) 
is  to  be  over-influenced  in  his  interpretation  by  the  charms  of 
the  pathological. 

The  antecedent  physical  and  mental  conditions  which  I  have 
sketched  may  be  sufficient  to  produce  quite  spontaneously  some 
of  the  more  intense  mystical  phenomena.  But  whether  they  do 
so  or  not]  the  mystic  who  longs  for  a  more  intimate  sense  of  the 
divine  usually  takes  all  the  means  in  his  power  to  cultivate  and 
deepen  the  experience.  Various  methods  for  the  cultivation  of 
the  mystic  life  have  been  devised  and  practiced  by  individuals 
of  various  religions,  in  many  lands  and  in  as  many  centuries. 
In  spite  of  their  separation  in  time  and  place,  however,  and  their 
independence  of  each  other,  these  methods  are  strikingly  similar 
the  world  over,  although  the  similarity  can  hardly  be  called 
surprising,  since  it  is  based  on  the  common  laws  of  the  human 
mind.  It  must  not  be  supposed  that  these  methods  can  by 
themselves  assure  the  result  desired.  The  Christian  mystics 
and  the  systematic  writers  upon  mysticism  constantly  protest 
that  the  means  taken  by  the  individual,  no  matter  how  carefully 
planned  and  exactly  carried  out,  can  never  make  the  attainment 
of  the  goal  a  certainty. -^^  There  is  always  an  incalculable  ele- 
^ment  to  be  reckoned  with,  say  the  Catholic  writers,  a  super- 
^  natural  and  direct  gift  of  God, —  which  may  be  interpreted  to 
(^  mean  some  obscure  but  important  psychical  conditions  which 
lie  too  deep  to  be  induced  by  any  methods  as  yet  devised. 
These  particular  conditions  are  connected  with  those  larger 
and  more  obscure  general  conditions  which  we  call  tempera- 
ment and  mood.  It  is  not  every  one  that  can  become  a  mystic, 
nor  can  the  genuine  mystic  always  force  his  moods.  Yet,  given 
an  individual  of  the  proper  temperament,  the  methods  approved 
!  by  the  long  mystic  tradition  for  training  the  moods  may,  if 
patiently  practiced,  result  in  the  production  of  the  desired  men- 
is  Cf.  Ribet.  "La  Mystique  Divine"  (Paris,  Poussielgue:  1895),  Vol. 
I,  pp.  18  and  19;  Lejeune,  "Introduction  a  la  Vie  Mystique,"  p.  2. 


i 


THE  "  MYSTICS  ''  AND  THEIE  METHODS      373 

— \ 
tal  state,  and  may  even  be  one  of  the  conditions  sine  qua  non 

of  its  production.  For  the  methods  in  question  may  well  be 
termed  ways  of  training  one's  moods,  of  inhibiting  some  and 
cultivating  others ; —  in  short,  they  are  essentially  cases  of  o-p-  ) 
-plied  'psychology.  Protestant  mysticism,  which  is  of  a  very 
amateur  sort,  is  often,  indeed,  unwilling  to  admit  the  propriety 
of  applying  psychology  to  the  culture  of  the  religious  life,  and 
would  feel  half  ashamed  to  admit  that  it  made  use  of  any 
psychological  methods  in  the  production  of  its  desired  ends. 
And  indeed  when  psychological  methods  are  used  to  coerce  the 
mind,  to  bring  about  a  species  of  self-deception,  to  transform 
the  thinking  man  into  the  hypnotic  subject  and  substitute  emo- 
tion for  volition  and  sentiment  for  morality,  then  one  may  well 
oppose  and  fear  them,  f  Yet  it  must  be  remembered  that  at  "\ 
least  one  of  the  most  important  goals  aimed  at  by  religion  and 
morality  alike  is,  from  the  psychological  point  of  view,  a  state 
of  mhid;  and  that  states  of  mind  follow  psychological  laws  and 
are  brought  about  by  psychological  means.  If  the  means  used 
have  no  accompanying  evil  effects  such  as  weakening  the  will 
or  clouding  the  intellect,  there  is  no  good  reason  why  theyj 
should  be  feared.  Protestantism  in  fact  makes  use  of  them 
constantly,  though  not  always  consciously,  systematically,  or 
wisely.  Roman  Catholicism,  on  the  other  hand,  recognizes 
plainly  that  psychological  means  are  requisite  for  bringing  - 
about  psychological  effects,  and  hence  applies  frankly  and  care- 
fully and,  one  might  almost  say,  scientifically,  all  the  knowledge 
of  the  human  mind  which  her  long  experience  has  gathered. 
The  mysticism  of  India  and  of  the  Sufis  is  naively  open  in  its 
application  of  psychological  methods  for  bringing  about  the  de- 
sired mental  conditions. 

There  is  much  in  common  between  the  methods  used  by  the 
mystics  of  whatever  creed  the  world  over.  The  religious  en- 
thusiast who  wishes  for  the  more  intense  form  of  the  mystical 
experience  usually  begins  with  the  methods  described  in  the 
last  chapter  and  carries  them  on  consistently  until  he  has  felt 
to  the  full  the  milder  form  of  mysticism.  Erom  reading  the 
descriptions  of  former  mystics,  however,  he  knows  that  what 
he  has  thus  far  experienced  is  pale  and  cold  compared  with  their 
ecstasies,  and  he  enters,  therefore,  upon  a  more  systematic  self-  ^ 


374  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

^  training.  This  course  of  training,  as  outlined  by  the  long  tra- 
'  dition  of  Christian  mystics,  consists  of  two  parts  or  stages,  one 
negative,  the  other  positive.  The  negative  part  is  technically 
knowTi  as  the  "  purgative "  stage,  while  the  positive  part  is 
called  the  "  meditative  "  or  ^'  illuminative  "  stage.*®  The  nega- 
tive part  of  the  training  is  for  the  sake  of  the  positive  part, 
hence  is  prior  to  it  logically,  though  not  necessarily  so  in  point 
of  time.  The  purgative  and  meditative  '^  stages  "  thus  are  to 
a  great  extent  contemporaneous,  although  for  purposes  of  ex- 
position it  is  invariably  found  expedient  to  treat  of  the  negative 
methods  or  the  purgative  stage  first. 

The  simplest  and  most  obvious  form  of  the  negative  method, 

/  16  These  two  are  regularly  regarded  as  the  first  and  second  steps  of  the 
mystic  life,  the  third  or  "  unitive "  stage  being  the  goal  at  which  the 
'«  others  aim.  This  three-fold  division  is  the  authoritative  view  of  Cath- 
ie olio  mysticism.  Cf.  Suarez:  "  Distinguere  solent  mystici  theologi  trea 
vias,  purgativam,  illuminativam,  et  unitavam."  Cf.  also  Scaramelli: 
"  Xel  cammino  della  perfezione  si  va  per  tre  vie  al  termine  della  nostra 
celeste  patria;  la  prima  della  quali  chiamasi  purgativa,  la  seconda  illu- 
minativa,  e  la  terza  unitiva;  distinzione  giusta  e  convenevole  ammessa 
da  tutti  gli  Scrittori  ascetiei  e  Dottori  mistici,  che  senza  grave  temerita 
non  pu6  disapprovarsi."  Quoted  by  Ribet,  op.  cit.,  Vol.  I,  p.  17,  notes 
2  and  3.  The  author  of  the  "  Theologia  Germanica"  accepts  the  same 
three  traditional  stages  as  the  more  typically  Catholic  mystics.  See  Miss 
Winkworth's  translation,  Chapter  XIV.  The  "  illuminative "  and  "  uni- 
tive "  stages,  however,  are  not  always  interpreted  in  the  same  way.  The 
"  illuminative  "  stage  is  often  taken  to  cover  both  the  meditative  part  of 
the  preparatory  course  and  also  the  ecstatic  experience;  while  the  term 
"  unitive "  stage  is  sometimes  used  to  mean  only  what  I  shall  refer  to 
(following  Delacroix)  as  the  "mystic  life."  This,  for  example,  is  Miss 
Underbill's  usage.  She,  however,  interpolates  a  new  and  distinct  stage 
between  the  "  illuminative  "  and  the  "  unitive,"  namely  the  "  Dark  Night 
of  the  Soul."  See  her  "Mysticism"  (London,  Methuen:  1911),  pp.  205- 
07,  and  "The  Mystic  Way"  (London,  Dent:  1913),  pp.  52-55.  i  Delacroix 
has  a  somewhat  similar  four-fold  division,  though  more  truly  psycho- 
logical in  character,  "  fitudes  d'Histoire  et  de  Psychologie  du  Mysticisme  " 
(Paris,  Alcan :  1908),  p.  346.  Boutroux  makes  five  stages  (see  the  Revue 
Bleu  for  March  15,  1902,  p.  7).  Professor  Jones  and  Mrs.  Herman  Jiave 
very  sensibly  protested  against  taking  any  of  these  gystematizations  too 
seriously;  all  of  them  are  partial  and  most  of  them  conventional;  none 
are  capable  of  universal  application  or  based  upon  any  really  general 
psychological  principle.  See  Jones,  "  Mysticism  in  Present  Day  Reli- 
gion"  {Harvard  Theological  Review  for  April,  1915,  especially  pp.  163- 
65)  ;  and  Herman,  "The  Meaning  and  Value  of  Mysticism"  (Boston,  Pil- 
grim Press:  1915),  pp.  13,  40,  162-63.  Miss  Underbill's  attempt  to  fit 
the  religious  development  of  Jesus,  Paul,  and  John  into  her  four-fold 
division  is  clever  rather  than  persuasive.  ( See  "  The  Mystic  Way,"  Chap- 
ters II,  III,  and  IV.) 


n 


I 


THE  "  MYSTICS  "  AI^D  THEIR  METHODS      375 

and  in  fact  the  very  beginning  and  presupposition  of  all  the 
rest,  is  common-place  negative  morality.  Moral  purity  is  the 
necessary  condition  of  the  mystic  life.  The  soul  that  is  filled 
with  the  love  of  sin  will  have  no  room  for  the  love  of  God.  The 
mind  that  is  burning  with  hot  lusts,  that  is  the  prey  of  tempestu- 
ous passions  and  worldly  desires  of  any  kind,  can  never  give  to 
the  thought  of  God  that  quiet  contemplation  which  is  the  con- 
dition and  the  beginning  of  ''  God's  presence  " — "  Dieu  sensible 
au  coeur."  ^^  ^^  He  that  committeth  sin  is  the  servant  of  sin  " 
—  and  no  man  can  serve  two  masters. 

But  moral  purity  of  the  ordinary  kind  is  not  sufficient  for 
him  who  aspires  to  an  extraordinary  mystic  life.  The  flesh 
lusteth  against  the  spirit  and  the  spirit  against  the  flesh,  and 
in  this  deadly  conflict  it  will  not  do  for  him  who  aims  at  com- 
plete mastery  to  remain  merely  upon  the  defensive.  The  war 
must  be  carried  into  the  enemy's  country.  One  must  not  only 
resist  the  encroachments  of  the  old  Adam;  one  must  crucify 
the  flesh  with  the  affections  and  lusts.  The  mind  must  be  freed 
from  the  interruptions  and  distractions  of  the  body  at  any  cost. 
Hence  the  common  expedient  of  what  is  known  as  "  mortifica- 
tion "  or  asceticism. 

The  aim  of  asceticism  is  not  ultimately  negative,  nor  is  it 
based  upon  an  essentially  pessimistic  view  of  human  nature. 
It  would  tame  or  even  destroy  certain  normal  human  impulses, 
but  only  for  the  sake  of  the  moral  and  spiritual  freedom  which 
it  prizes  higher  than  the  things  it  sacrifices.  Much  in  human 
nature  it  regards  as  evil,  but  the  spiritual  part  of  man  is,  for 
it,  supremely  good,  and  the  life  of  the  spirit  supremely  worth 
while.  The  view  of  human  nature  which  it  usually  implies 
is  thus  patent, —  namely  the  dualistic  view  so  generally  held 
in  ancient  India  and  during  the  Christian  Middle  Ages  when 
the  tradition  of  Catholic  mysticism  was  formed.  This  view  re- 
gards soul  and  body  a^  distinct  "  substances  "  joined  together 
temporarily  in  rather  external  fashion,  and  carrying  on  constant 
warfare  with  each  other.  ^^     In  a  larger  sense,  how^ever,  asceti- 

17  Pascal's  definition  of  mysticism. 

18  Cf.  Lejeune,  "Introduction  a  la  Vie  Mystique,"  p.  188:  "Pour  bien 
comprendre  le  ph^nomene  auquel  il  est  fait  ici  allusion,  il  faut  se  rappeler 
qu'il  y  a  chez  Thomme  deux  substances,  qui  ne  se  ressemblent  ni  par  leur 
nature,   ni   par   leur   fonctions.     Qui   ne   connSit   les  noms   consacres   par 


r 


376  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

cism  transcends  any  particular  theory  and  is  confined  to  no  one 
class  sucli  as  the  mystics.  It  is,  in  fact,  the  effort  of  the  earnest 
gniil  to  repress  and  destroy  all  that  militates  against  the  spir- 
itual life.  It  is  the  expression  of  the  conyiction  common  alike 
to  Hinduism,  Buddhism,  and  Christianity,  that  the  lesser  self 
must  die  if  the  larger  self  is  to  liye.  It  is  voiced  in  the  teach- 
ings of  Gautama  and  of  all  of  his  disciples,  whether  Hinayana 
or  Mahayana,  who  have  grasped  most  fully  the  spirit  of  their 
master.  It  looms  large  in  the  Upanishads  and  the  Gita,  in  the 
words  of  mediaeval  seers  like  Shankara  and  Kabir,  and  modem 
Hindu  teachers  like  Ram  Mohun  Roy  and  Ramakrishna.  It 
was  at  the  heart  of  the  teachings  of  Jesus,  and  is  echoed  in  such 
typically  Christian  books  as  the  Imitation  of  Christ,  the  Theo- 
logia  Germanica,  and  the  sermons  of  Tauler.  The  necessity 
of  denying  and  crucifying  the  smaller  self  appears  in  fact  to 
be  one  of  the  two  or  three  fundamental  insights  upon  which  all 
the  more  deeply  spiritual  religions  are  agreed.  This  under- 
stood, asceticism  is  a  much  larger  thing  than  mysticism.  But 
the  mystics  as  a  class  have  had  a  quicker  sense  of  its  value  than 
others  could  attain,  and  have  tried  to  apply  it  with  a  system,  a 
courage,  and  at  times  a  rash  fanaticism  at  which  the  rest  of 
l^he  religious  world  has  been  able  only  to  gasp. 

It  would,  however,  be  a  mistake  to  say  that  asceticism  as 
practiced  by  the  mystics  is  entirely  based  even  upon  a  general 
conviction.  As  Mrs.  Herman  ^®  and  M.  Pacheu  ^^  point  out, 
one  great  force  in  the  self-inflicted  pains  of  the  Christian  saints 
was  their  intense  and  unreasoning  longing  to  suffer  with  Christ, 
and  one  might  add,  their  desire  to  show  thereby  their  love  for 
Him.^^     Various  other  motives  have  doubtless  also  been  at  work. 

I'upage  pour  exprimer  cette  duality  et  cette  opposition?  C'est  la  chair  et 
I'cpprit.  .  .  .  Ces  deux  substances,  liien  qu'unies  pour  former  le  compose 
humain,  n'ont  pas  cependant  les  moraes  aspirations  et  ne  donnent  pas 
naiseance  aux  m^mes  ocuvres."  etc.,  etc.  The  Yogins  of  India  also  based 
their  ascetic  practices  in  part  on  a  dualistic  psychology',  distinguishing 
sharply  between  the  purusha  or  soul  and  those  "  conformations  "  of  qualities 
which  are  really  due  to  our  ignorance  and  illusion. 

19  "  The  Meaning  and  Value  of  Mysticism,"  pp.  182-86. 

20  "  L'Experience  Mystique  et  I'Activit^  Subconsciente  "  (Paris,  Perrin : 
1911),  p.  207f.  The  ascetic  practices  prompted  by  love  he  distinguishes 
from  moral  mysticism  as  "  Fasc^tisme  mystique." 

21  This  has  been  common  to  many  mystics,  but  is  perhaps  most  notable 
among  the  Jansenists,     Cf.  St.  Gyres'  "  Pascal,"  pp.  243-44. 


THE  "  MYSTICS  '^  AjSTD  THEIK  METHODS      3Y7 

In  fact  asceticism  has  to  a  considerable  extent  been  built  up  by 
a  process  of  trial  and  error,  and  its  long  retention  by  the  mystics 
of  Christendom  and  India  and  Islam  is  explicable  only  by  the 
fact  that  it  has  produced  the  results  desired. 

The  great  aim  of  mortification  is  freedom  —  freedom  from  1 
the  things  of  this  world  and  the  distractions  of  the  body.  Hence 
the  constant  use  of  methods  calculated  to  produce  indifference.^^ 
The  Buddhist  who  seriously  seeks  salvation  must  cut  all  the 
ties  of  family  and  friendship  and  worldly  possession  and  either 
live  with  a  band  of  monks  or  "  wander  alone  like  a  rhinoceros.'' 
"  The  sensual  pleasures  which  are  various,  sweet,  and  charm- 
ing, under  their  different  shapes  agitate  the  mind;  seeing  the 
misery  originating  in  sensual  pleasures,  let  one  wander  alone 
like  a  rhinoceros.  Having  left  son  and  wife,  father  and 
mother,  wealth  and  com  and  relatives,  the  different  objects  of 
desire,  let  one  wander  alone  like  a  rhinoceros."  ^^  The  great 
aim  of  the  Buddhist  training  is  thus  to  kill  out  desire  and  de- 
pendence upon  it.  And  in  similar  vein  Krishna,  in  the  Bhaga- 
vad  Gita,  holds  up  as  the  ideal  for  imitation  him  ^'  who  being 
without  attachments  any^^here,  feels  no  exultation  and  no  aver- 
sion on  encountering  the  various  agreeable  and  disagreeable 
things  of  this  world  " ;  '^  who  is  self-contained ;  to  whom  a  sod 
and  a  stone  and  gold  are  alike ;  to  whom  censure  and  praise  of 
himself  are  alike ;  who  is  alike  toward  friends  and  foes."  ^* 
Probably  no  religious  sect  has  carried  out  this  kind  of  training 

22  Perhaps  the  most  obvious  method  for  protecting  the  soul  against  the    \ 
distractions  of  the  body  and  the  assaults  of  the  world  is  to  keep  a  strict 
watch  upon  its  portals,  the  senses.     Hence  "the  mortification  of  the  senses 

is  the  chief  part  of  bodily  mortification."  (Lejeune,  op.  cit.,  p.  210.)  The  t* 
books  of  direction  to  the  young  mystic  are  full  of  exhortations  to  avoid  / 
falling  under  the  power  of  any  of  the  senses... '  Alvarez  de  Paz  takes  up 
each  sense  specially  and  points  out  in  detail  the  dangers  to  which  it  ex- 
poses the  soul.  In  the  case  of  sight  and  hearing,  these  are  evident  enough, 
but  taste  too  is  a  great  danger,  and  so  is  even  the  sense  of  odor.  "  Among 
the  foods  which  are  offered  you,  choose  those  which  most  mortify  your 
taste."  "  Eat  in  such  a  way  as  not  to  be  altogether  given  over  to  your 
action,  but  be  attentive  to  a  pious  thought  or  to  a  book  which  is  being 
read  to  you."  Even  perfun  as  should  be  avoided.  (Alvarez  de  Paz,  "  De 
Exterminations  Mali  et  Promotione  Boni," — Lugduni,  1613  —  Liber  II, 
Pars  II,  Cap.  II.) 

23  Sutta  Nipata.     S.  B.  E.     Vol.  X.  Part  II,  pp.  8  and  9. 
24Bhagavad  Gita,  II,   70,  and  XIV,  21.     S.  B.  E.     Vol.  VIII,  Part  II, 

pp.  50  and  110. 


378  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

in  self-control  through  self-denial  with  such  nicety  of  detail  as 
have  the  Jainas.  Of  the  twelve  vows  taken  by  every  monk  and 
by  every  earnest  la^^nan,  seven  deal  with  the  limitation  of  desire 
in  all  sorts  of  things,  little  and  big.^^  In  this  way  the  Jaina 
seeks  to  free  himself  from  the  imperious  cravings  of  the  flesh 
and  from  the  domination  of  a  world  of  things. 

The  Catholic  Church  in  its  encouragement  of  the  monastic 
life  has  sought  and  cultivated  this  same  freedom  from  the  dom- 
ination of  the  world.  /    But  one  can  cultivate  it  without  actually 

\  leaving  the  world  behind  him,  and  even  when  still  surrounded 

IJby  the  distractions  of  society./  The  systematic  refusal  to  take 
delight  in  the  good  things,  little  and  big,  which  one  still  re- 
tains is  a  refinement  of  asceticism  which  the  Buddhist  Bhikkhu 
never  seems  to  have  thought  of.  It  is,  nevertheless,  say  the 
Catholic  writers,  one  of  the  best  methods  for  gaining  true  and 
lasting  independence  of  spirit.  To  deny  oneself  good  things 
to  eat  is  a  crude  (though  for  beginners  often  a  necessary)  form 
of  asceticism ;  to  eat  what  one  likes  but  to  take  no  pleasure  in 
it  is,  when  it  can  be  done,  a  much  more  useful  means,  for  it  not 
only  leaves  the  desire  unsatisfied  but  tends  to  root  it  out  alto- 
gether. It  is  particularly  in  connection  with  little  things  that 
one  may  cultivate  this  indifference  to  the  world;  for,  as  St. 
Dorotheas  says,  little  things  present  opportunities  for  vic- 
tory over  self  at  every  moment.  The  following  illustrations  are 
suggested  by  the  saint  just  referred  to :  "  You  take  a  walk 
and  curiosity  makes  you  desire  to  look  at  something;  you  re- 
sist the  desire  and  turn  your  eyes  away.  You  feel  an  impulse 
to  take  part  in  a  conversation  concerning  unimportant  things; 
you  impose  silence  on  yourself  and  go  your  way.  The  thought 
comes  to  you  of  going  to  your  cook  and  telling  him  to  prepare 
your  dinner;  you  don't  go.  You  see  an  object  and  are  filled 
with  desire  to  ask  who  brought  it;  you  do  nothing  and  keep 
quiet.     By  mortifying  yourself  in  little  things  you  contract  the 

\  habit  of  mortifying  yourself  in  all  things ;  and  whatever  hap- 
pens to  you,  you  are  just  as  satisfied  as  if  it  had  happened  as 

\   you  wished.     Thus  you  see  how  useful  these  little  things  are  to 

25  For  details  see  Mrs.  Stevenson's  "  The  Heart  of  Jainism,"  pp.  209-21, 
and  165-68. 


THE  "  MYSTICS  "  A:N'D  THEIR  METHODS      379 


your  perfection   and  how  they   aid  you   in  controlling  your 
will."  26  "  ^ 

Eor  the  control  of  the  will  is,  after  all,  the  chief  thing.  | 
Nothing  more  impedes  the  spiritual  life  than  self-will  —  hence  V^ 
the  value  of  constant  self-denial  as  a  means  of  mortification. 
And  the  most  important  method  devised  by  the  Catholic  Church 
for  the  ceaseless  denial  of  self  and  the  humbling  of  the  will  con- 
sists in  "the  three  virtues  of  the  religious  life,"  —  poverty,^ 
chastity,  obedience.  The  vow  of  perpetual  poverty  cuts  all 
the  bonds  that  make  one  subject  to  material  things,  forbidding, 
as  it  does,  not  merely  legal  possession  but  any  form  of  attach- 
ment to  the  things  of  the  world.  If  a  monk,  for  instance,  finds 
himself  becoming  fond  of  a  particular  book  he  must  get  rid  of 
it.  He  must  not  even  take  delight  in  the  possessions  of  his  or- 
der. The  vow  of  perpetual  chastity,  which  aims  at  purity  of 
thought  as  well  as  of  action,  seeks  to  free  one  from  all  domin- 
ance of  passion  by  renouncing  once  and  for  all  every  possibility 
of  sexual  satisfaction  and  training  the  mind  and  even  the  sense 
organs  to  avoid  every  slightest  suggestions  that  might  furnish 
fuel  to  the  natural  instinct  of  reproduction.  Finally  the  vow 
of  perpetual  obedience  to  a  superior  attacks  not  merely  the  ex- 
pression of  the  will  but  the  will  itself  in  its  central  citadel. ^''^ 
It  means  complete  renunciation  to  the  will  of  God  as  one  un- 
derstands that  will  —  nothing  of  the  little  self  shall  be  allowed 
to  remain  and  impede  the  inflowing  of  the  divine  spirit. 

All  of  the  means  for  dominating  the  body  and  its  impulses 
thus  far  described,  even  when  combined,  have  not  always  been 
sufficient  to  bring  about  that  complete  crucifying  of  the  flesh 
with  the  affections  and  lusts  which  the  most  eager  of  the  mys- 
tics have  desired ;  hence  more  heroic  methods  still  have  been  de- 
vised and  regularly  practiced.  I  refer,  of  course,  to  what 
are  known  as  "  austerities."  The  Catholic  writers  consider 
these  extremely  important.  "  To  lead  us  to  the  practice  of 
austerities,"  writes  Alverez  de  Paz,  "  nothing  more  is  necessary 
than  the  example  of  all  the  perfect  men.     For  who  is  there 

26  Quoted  by  Lejeune,  op.  cit.,  p.  201. 

27  Cf .  Lejeune :  "  Par  la  vertu  de  pauvTete  il  immole  a  Dieu  sea  biens 
exterieurs;  par  la  chastete  il  immole  son  corps;  par  I'obeissance  il  com- 
plete son  sacrifice  et  il  donne  d.  Dieu  tout  ce  qu'il  possede  encore,  ses  deux 
biens  les  plus  pr§cieux,  son  esprit  et  sa  volont^,"  p.  277. 


380  THE  KELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

among  them  who  has  not  (unless  prevented  by  severe  illness) 
given  himself  over  to  austerities?  Who  is  there  among  them 
that  has  not  conquered  his  flesh  by  hair  cloth,  by  the  scourge, 
by  fasting,  by  watching  ?  If  wo  run  through  the  history  of  the 
saints  we  shall  not  find  one  who  has  not  used  this  kind  of  mor- 
tification ai^ainst  his  bodv."  ^® 

Foremost  among  the  austerities  comes  fasting.  In  the  at- 
tack upon  the  flesh  it  is  comparable,  says  Surin,  to  the  method 
of  siege,  cutting  off  the  supplies  of  the  enemy,  sapping  his 
forces,  and  thus  patiently  overcoming  him.^®  The  same  writer 
gives  the  following  suggestions  for  its  practical  application: 
"  The  man  who  wishes  to  conquer  himself  and  his  vices  may 
follow  this  rule:  to  decrease  his  nourishment  as  much  as  he  can 
without  diminishing  the  strength  which  is  necessary  for  him 
to  perform  his  duties;  and  it  is  certain  that  by  abstinence  he 
will  advance  as  much  in  the  spiritual  life  and  weaken  the  power 
of  the  enemy  as  by  anything  else  that  he  can  do."  ^^ 

The  extent  to  which  abstinence  has  been  carried  by  many  mys- 
tics of  many  lands  seems  almost  incredible.  As  Charbonier 
points  out,  the  mystics  of  warm  climates  are  more  successful 
at  it  than  are  their  northern  fellows ;  yet  in  all  latitudes  it  is 
practiced  to  some  extent.  The  Indians  have,  perhaps,  carried 
it  farthest  ;^^  though  many  Christian  saints  have  by  gradual 
training  learned  to  go  for  many  days  at  a  time  with  little  food 
or  none  at  all.  St.  Catherine  of  Genoa,  according  to  von 
Hiigel,  in  the  great  middle  period  of  her  life  when  her  ac- 
tivity and  usefulness  was  at  its  height,  fasted  regularly  for 
long  periods  twice  a  year.  Von  Hiigel  tells  us  —  basing  his  as- 
sertion upon  the  somewhat  legendary  "  Life  "  of  the  saint  — 
that  for  twenty  years  "  she  evidently  went  for  a  fairly  equal 

28  "  La  Preparation  il  la  Contemplation,"  Liber  II,  Pars  II,  Cap.  V. 

29  Quoted  by  Lejeune,  p.  226. 

30  This,  though  probably  the  chief  aim  of  fasting,  is  not  the  only  one 
with  all  the  mystics.  Galton  points  out  that  in  many  cases  investigated 
by  him  fasting,  and  also  sleeplessness  and  loneliness,  have  tended  to  in- 
duce visions;  and  this  fact  was  known  long  before  Galton's  time  to  the 
whole  mystic  fraternity,  from  the  Shaman  to  the  saint. 

31  Especially  the  Jainas,  with  whom  it  has  always  been  regarded  as  a 
great  merit  to  starve  oneself  to  death  —  a  merit,  moreover,  still  occa- 
sionally attained  by  extreme  devotees.  See  Mrs.  Stevenson,  op.  cit.,  pp. 
221  and  163. 


THE  "  MYSTICS  "  AND  THEIR  METHODS      381 

number  of  days  —  some  thirty  in  Advent  and  some  forty  in 
Lent,  seventy  in  all  annually,  with  all  but  no  food;  and  vs^as, 
during  these  fasts,  at  least  as  vigorous  and  active  as  when  her 
nutrition  was  normal."  ^^  Louise  Lateau  for  nineteen  years 
took  each  day  only  a  piece  of  apple  and  a  piece  of  bread  with 
a  little  beer ;  and  this  finally  proved  too  hearty  a  diet  and  had 
to  be  reduced.^ ^  Cases  more  or  less  similar  could  be  cited 
almost  ad  libitum. 

The  universality  of  this  practice  is  sufficient  evidence  of  its 
usefulness  in  inducing  the  mental  and  bodily  state  which  the 
mystic  desires.  The  body  is  considerably  weakened,  and  has 
no  superfluous  force  to  spend  upon  the  various  buoyant  im- 
pulses of  the  Old  Adam.  Constant  training  reduces  the  amount 
of  food  actually  required  and  enough  food  is  taken  to  keep 
the  body  alive  and  give  some  additional  strength  which  the  will 
of  the  mystic  uses  in  meditation  and  ecstasy,  but  no  margin 
is  left  which  might  act  as  fuel  to  the  slumbering  fires  of  pas- 
sion.^* The  result  is  that  the  mind  is  left  undisturbed  to 
fasten  its  attention  upon  God,  its  superfluous  energy  is  reduced, 
and  the  wandering  of  "  discursive  thought  "  (so  feared  by  the 
mystic)  is  inhibited.  Thus  both  body  and  mind  are  brought  to 
such  a  condition  that  the  unity  of  the  ecstatic  trance  is  but  one 
step  distant. 

Yet,  great  as  is  the  importance  of  fasting  it  is  a  mistake 
to  consider  it  (as  Charbonier  does)  the  source  of  all  the  phe- 
nomena of  mysticism  and  the  stock  from  which  all  the  other 
austerities  grow.  It  is  a  decided  misconception  to  suppose 
that  any  one  austerity  is  the  sole  source  of  the  mystic  phe- 
nomena ;  there  are  in  fact  several  kinds  of  austerities  quite  as 
fundamental  as  is  fasting.     Sleeplessness,^^  for  example,  though 

32  Von  Hiigel,  "  The  Mystical  Element  in  Religion,"  Vol.  II,  p.  33. 

33  Charbonier,  "  Maladies  des  Mystiques." 

34  Cf .  Alvarez  de  Paz :  "  The  ardors  of  passion  are  cooled  in  the  man 
who  deprives  himself  of  superfluous  and  delicate  food.  To  throw  wood  on 
the  fire  and  at  the  same  time  pray  that  the  fire  may  go  out  is  to  ask  of 
God  a  miracle.  In  like  manner  you  tempt  God,  you  ask  an  unnecessary 
miracle  when  you  gorge  yourself  with  food  and  in  your  prayers  long  for 
chastity."     "  De  Castitate,"  Cap.  XIV. 

35  Pierre  d'Alcantara,  according  to  St.  Teresa,  went  for  forty  years  with 
but  one  and  one-half  hours  of  sleep  out  of  the  twenty-four.  "  Vie," 
(French  translation  by  Bouix,  Paris,  Lecoflfre:    1907),  p.  294. 


882  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

less  common,  is  a  favorite  means  of  subduing  the  flesh.  As  used 
by  the  mystics  it  is  at  first  artificially  induced,  after  which  it 
grows  into  a  habit,  and  results  in  much  the  same  bodily  and 
mental  conditions  as  lack  of  food.  Its  specific  effects  are  to 
make  the  mystic  less  susceptible  to  distraction  and  at  last  to 
bring  about  what  Professor  Haynes  describes  as  the  "  smother- 
ing "  of  the  attention.^^  Besides  sleeplessness  and  fasting  there 
are  many  other  forms  of  austerity,  all  aiming  at  the  same  goal : 
victory  over  the  flesh  by  the  spirit  and  the  resulting  freedom  of 
the  mind.  To  illustrate  them  I  need  cite  only  one  case,  in 
which  nearly  all  are  included, —  namely  that  of  the  famous 
German  mystic  of  the  early  Fourteenth  Century,  Heinrich 
Suso.  I  quote  from  Preger's  account,  which  follows  very 
closely  Suso's  ovra  description  in  his  autobiography,  and  is,  in 
fact,  hardly  more  than  a  condensation  of  certain  passages  in 
it:  "From  his  eighteenth  year  on  for  twenty-two  years  he 
sought  to  break  his  ^  wild  spirit '  and  his  ^  pampered  body '  by 
an  unintermitting  series  of  painful  practices.  For  the  first 
ten  years  (1313-1323)  he  shut  himself  up  in  absolute  seclusion 
in  his  cloister.  A  chapel  which  he  had  built  for  himself,  his 
cell,  and  the  choir  of  the  church  constituted  his  narrowest  cir- 
cuit, the  cloister  a  wider  one,  and  the  walk  as  far  as  the  gate  his 
widest  circuit,  between  which  he  chose  according  to  rule.  For 
a  long  time  he  wore  a  hair  shirt  and  an  iron  chain,  later  a  hair 
undershirt  with  nails,  which  pierced  his  flesh  at  every  motion 
and  whenever  he  lay  down.  In  order  not  to  be  able  to  avoid  the 
bites  of  the  vermin  (for  he  did  not  bathe  during  the  twenty-two 
years)  he  put  his  hands  in  slings  during  the  night.  He  bore  a 
cross  a  span  long,  with  thirty  nails  and  seven  needles,  bound 
upon  his  bare  back ;  every  day  he  lay  upon  it  or  threw  himself 
upon  it.  For  a  long  time  a  door  was  his  bed.  The  pains  of 
cold,  hunger,  thirst,  and  bloody  flagellation  he  inflicted  upon 
himself  for  so  long  a  time  and  with  such  severity  that  he  came 
near  dying."  He  says  of  himself  (speaking  in  the  third  per- 
son) :  "  His  feet  came  to  be  full  of  sores,  his  legs  swelled  as 
though  dropsical,  his  knees  were  bloody  and  wounded,  his  hips 
covered  with  scars  from  the  hair  shirt,  his  back  wounded  with 

3*5  Cf.  his  paper  on  "  Attention,  Fatigue,  and  the  Concept  of  Infinity  "  in 
the  Journal  of  Philosophy,  IV,  601f. 


THE  ''  MYSTICS  "  AND  THEIR  METHODS      383 

the  cross,  his  body  exhausted  by  endless  austerities,  his  mouth 
and  his  tongue  dry  from  thirst,  his  hands  trembling  from  weak- 
ness." ^"^ 

It  must  not  be  supposed  from  what  I  have  said  that  the  aim 
of  these  austerities,  or  of  asceticism  in  general,  is  chiefly  the 
joyous  thrill  of  the  mystic  trance.  Often  this  joy  comes  not  at 
all  and  is  hardly  expected,  and  when  it  does  come  it  is  usually 
regarded  (at  least  by  the  great  mystics)  as  being,  after  all,  of 
only  secondary  importance.  The  mystic  feels  driven  on  a  tergo 
by  the  very  force  of  his  moral  earnestness  to  root  out  the  sins 
of  the  flesh ;  or  if  he  be  led  on  from  before  it  is  in  order  that  he 
may  the  better  walk  with  God  and  serve  Him.  The  true  place 
of  asceticism  in  religion  must,  therefore,  not  be  judged  by  the 
place  given  it  in  this  chapter.  For  purposes  of  exposition  I 
have  found  it  most  convenient  to  treat  of  it  here  as  one  of  the 
modes  of  preparation  for  the  mystic  experience,  but  it  has 
other  relations  and  functions  than  this.  And  the  mystic  le-a^^x^ 
gards  it  only  incidentally  as  a  means  toward  a  particular  kind  ^^^ 
of  experience,  and  chiefly  as  a  kind  of  spiritual  training  under- 
taken for  the  sake  of  greater  moral  purity  and  increased  > 
efficiency/  In  the  words  of  de  Montmorand :  "  Asceticism 
from  the  Christian  point  of  view  is  nothing  but  a  collection  of 

37  "  Geschichte  der  deutschen  Mystik,''  three  volumes  ( Leipzig ;  Doerf - 
fling;  1874,  '81,  '93).  Vol.  II,  pp.  350  and  351.  The  literature  of  medi- 
aeval penance  is  very  large,  and  no  special  reference  is  here  needed,  for  the 
lives  of  almost  all  the  saints  and  mystics  are  full  of  it.  A  systematic 
account  of  one  important  aspect  of  it  —  flagellation  —  will  be  found  in  a 
curious  book  by  the  Rev.  William  Cooper,  entitled  "  The  History  of  the 
Rod"  (London;  Reeves).  Self-inflicted  torture  of  various  sorts  has  been 
common  among  many  primitive  races.  Among  civilized  races  the  Indians 
have  carried  it  to  the  greatest  extreme  —  as  nearly  every  book  on  the 
religions  of  India  will  show.  The  classical  account,  I  suppose,  is  that 
given  by  Dubois,  in  his  "  Hindu  Manners,  Customs,  and  Ceremonies " 
(Third  edition,  Clarendon  Press,  1906),  esp.  pp.  517f,  529f,  535,  597.  It 
should  be  added,  however,  that  Dubois's  account  though  doubtless  trust- 
worthy so  far  as  it  goes  is  lacking  in  sympathy  and  vision.  A  more  sym- 
pathetic account  will  be  found  in  Chapter  VII  of  Farquhar's  "  Crown 
of  Hinduism."  Both  the  Hindu  and  the  Christian  ascetic  are  prompted  in 
their  self-torture  by  love  of  God  or  desire  of  reward  from  Him.  It  is 
therefore  interesting  to  note  that  the  atheistic  Jainas  also  make  use  of 
similar  penitential  practices,  with  the  purpose  of  conquering  the  flesh  for 
the  sake  of  the  spirit.  See,  e.g.,  the  directions  given  in  the  Akaranga 
Sutra  I,  7,  8  (translated  by  Jacobi  in  the  Sacred  Books  of  the  East); 
also  Mrs.  Stevenson's  "Heart  of  Jainism,"  p.  163. 


384  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

therapeutic  methods  tending  toward  moral   purification.     As- 

Cceticism  comes  from  the  Greek  'aaKclv  ^  to  exercise,  to  com- 
bat ;  who  says  ascetic  says  athlete^  The  Christian  ascetic  strug- 
gles to  transform  his  corrupted  nature,  to  beat  a  path  for  him- 
self tow^ard  God,  against  the  obstacles  which  his  passions 
and  the  world  create  for  him.  And  he  struggles  not  solely  for 
his  own  sake,  but  still  more  for  the  welfare  and  the  salvation  of 
society  as  a  whole."  ^® 

It  is  in  this  larger  sense  that  the  value  of  asceticism  and  its 
proper  place  in  life  must  be  judged.  Its  aim,  as  expressed  in 
the  passage  just  quoted,  is  indeed  admirable ;  the  real  question, 
therefore,  is:  To  what  extent  does  it  fulfill  its  aim? 

It  is  easy  to  dispose  of  asceticism  by  calling  it  abnormal  and 
unnatural  in  all  its  forms,  a  product  of  mediaeval  superstition, 
thus  relegating  it  to  the  Dark  Ages.  But  such  a  course  is 
rather  too  easy  and  simple.  Asceticism  has  had  too  wide  a 
practice  and  is  even  now  too  prevalent,  in  one  form  or  another, 
to  be  regarded  as  essentially  abnormal.  While  its  extreme  cases 
doubtless  are  "  against  nature "  the  feeling  which  prompted 
these  and  which  runs  throu2:h  them  all  cannot  be  accounted  for 
by  reference  to  any  theological  doctrine  or  local  custom.  The 
essential  thing  in  asceticism  —  the  systematic  denial  of  the  per- 
sonal self  and  its  individual  desires  —  is  profoundly  normal, 
and  in  all  those  who  have  a  touch  of  the  heroic  it  is  as  natural 
as  self-preservation  or  self-pleasing.  The  moralists  have  been 
telling  us  for  several  centuries  that  altruism  is  as  native  to  hu- 
manity as  egoism ;  but  it  has  not  been  so  often  nor  so  clearly 
pointed  out  that  the  love  of  the  strenuous,  the  difficult,  the  self- 
denying  life  is  a  "  spring  of  action  "  coordinate  with,  if  not 
equal  to,  the  love  of  pleasure.  There  is  something  in  most  of 
us  that  rises  up  and  says  Amen  to  Browning's  brave  words : 

"  Poor  vaunt  of  life  indeed 
Were  man  but  formed  to  feed 
On  joy,  to  solely  seek  and  find  and  feast; 
Such  feasting  ended,  then 

88  "  Asc^tisme  et  Mysticisme,"  Revue  Philosophique,  LVII,  244.  Cf.  also 
Joly's  "  Psychologie  des  Saints,"  pp.  183-S5.  Dr.  Moerchen  defines 
asceticism  as  *'  das  Streben  nach  einer  Erziehung  der  korperlichen  Funk- 
tionen  im  Sinne  einer  absoluten  Unterordnung  derselben  unter  das 
Geistige."  "Die  Psychologie  der  Heiligkeit"  (Halle,  Marhold:  1908), 
p.  22. 


THE  ^'  MYSTICS  "  AND  THEIR  METHODS      385 

As  sure  an  end  to  men ; 
Irks  care  the  crop-full  bird?     Frets  doubt  tbe  maw-crammed  beast? 

"  Then  welcome  each  rebuff 

That  turns  earth's  smoothness  rough, 
Each  sting  that  bids  nor  sit  nor  stand  but  go ! 

Be  our  joys  three  parts  pain ! 

Strive,  and  hold  cheap  the  strain; 
Learn,  nor  account  the  pang ;  dare,  never  grudge  the  throe !  " 

The  response  which  our  hearts  make  to  exhortations  like  this, 
and  the  sense  of  dissatisfaction  that  would  come  to  most  of  us 
with  a  life  of  mere  enjoyment  from  which  all  the  pain  of  self- 
sacrifice  had  been  excluded,  Avill  perhaps  explain  to  some  extent 
the  more  extreme  case  of  the  mystic  who  exclaims,  "  Suffering 
alone,  from  now  on,  can  make  life  supportable  to  me.  My  dear- 
est wishes  all  lead  to  suffering.  How  often  from  the  bottom  of 
my  heart  have  I  cried  out  to  God,  O  Lord  to  suffer  or  to  die  is 
the  only  thing  I  ask."  ^^ 

Some  de2:ree  of  asceticism  seems  to  be  essential  in  most  lives. 
It  is  a  kind  of  stimulant  without  which  the  individual  cannot 
work  to  best  advantage.  There  can  be  no  doubt,  moreover, 
that  the  steady  practice  of  self-denial  in  purely  selfish  and  un- 
necessary things  is  of  considerable  effect  in  the  upbuilding  of 
character  and  the  development  of  the  spiritual  life.'*^  The  great- 
est authority  on  this  subject  gave  as  preliminary  directions  for 
spiritual  living  the  denial  of  self  and  the  taking  up  of  one's 
cross.  And  if  the  value  of  the  ascetic  method  was  overrated 
in  the  Middle  Ages,  it  is  as  certainly  underrated  in  our  times. 
Amid  our  eagerness  for  universal  amusement,  our  royal  roads 
to  learning,  our  patent  methods  for  "  getting  rich  quick,"  and 
our  constantly  growing  habit  of  pampering  ourselves  and  our 
children,  the  uneasy  question  can  hardly  be  avoided  whether  we 
would  not  do  well  to  cultivate  some  of  the  sterner  virtues  of  the 
Mystic  and  the  Puritan,  and  whether  the  practice  of  a  little  sys- 
tematic and  gratuitous  self-denial  is  not  worthy  at  least  of 
our  serious  consideration. 

39  St.  Teresa.     Quoted  by  Joly,  p.  183. 

40  Cf.  James's  excellent  exposition  of  this  view  in  his  "  Psychology," 
Briefer  Course  (New  York,  Holt:  1893),  p.  149.  See  also  the  "Varieties," 
pp.  296-325. 


/ 


886  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

But  I  fear  much  of  what  I  have  been  saying  is  rather  far  re- 
moved from  the  subject  of  this  chapter.  To  return,  then,  to 
asceticism  as  a  means  of  preparation  for  the  mystic  life,  it  must 
be  granted,  as  it  seems  to  me,  that  when  practiced  very  moder- 
ately and  with  care,  the  denial  of  our  less  important  desires 
may  be  and  often  is  a  very  real  assistance  in  the  cultivation  of 
spirituality.  But  if  asceticism  is  to  be  what  its  defenders  claim 
it  is  —  a  course  of  training  for  the  moral  athlete  —  it  must  in 
no  way  injure  the  man  in  health  of  body  or  health  of  mind. 
This  in  fact  is  taught  by  the  majority  of  the  Roman  Catholic 
writers.  Thus  Lejeune :  "  Austerities  which  prevent  one  from 
fulfilling  the  obligations  of  one's  charge  or  vocation  are  by  that 
very  fact  condemnable  and  opposed  to  the  will  of  God."  *^  In 
like  manner  St.  Francois  de  Salles  urges  the  young  mystic  when 
in  doubt  as  to  the  proper  amount  of  austerity  to  lean  always  to 
the  side  of  indulgence  rather  than  to  that  of  asceticism.'*^  Yet 
that  this  has  not  been  bv  any  means  the  universal  course  advised 
or  pursued  is  shown  by  the  many  extreme  cases  like  that  of  Suso 
and  by  the  admonitions  of  mystics  like  Teresa  who  urge  the 
beginner  to  throw  to  the  winds  all  considerations  of  health 
and  even  of  life,  and  to  conquer  the  body  at  any  cost.  And  it 
must  be  admitted  that  the  asceticism  which  in  any  way  makes 
the  mystic  in  body  or  mind  less  of  a  man,  the  asceticism  which 
transgresses  the  limits  set  by  health,  is  harmful  and  always  to 
be  condemned.  It  is  a  sort  of  malpractice  upon  one's  self 
and  tends  to  put  one  into  a  state  of  physical  and  mental  weak- 
ness and  self-delusion.  In  so  far  as  this  extreme  form  is  used 
to  bring  on  the  mystic  state  it  drags  the  latter  down  with  it  into 
the  region  of  pathology,  and  thus  robs  it  of  much  of  its  signifi- 
cance and  importance.  It  is  a  dangerous  thing  to  lop  off  any 
of  one's  mental  powers  or  reduce  to  any  extent  the  mind's  nor- 
mal activity ;  and  so  far  forth  as  the  ecstatic  trance  is  induced 
by  this  kind  of  mental  malpractice  it  is  in  a  real  sense  patho- 
logical and  stands  on  a  par  with  hypnosis. 

Mortification  of  the  body  and  even  of  the  spirit  are  at  best 
but  negative  methods  of  reaching  the  mystic's  goal.     The  posi- 

41  Op.  cit.,  p.  220. 

42  See  Lejeune,  p.  277.     Cf.  also  Tauler's  saying:     "We  must  lop  and 
prune  vices,  not  nature,  which  in  itself  is  good  and  noble." 


THE  "  MYSTICS  "  AND  THEIE  METHODS      387 

tive  methods  which  he  uses  for  gaining  it  come  under  what  is 
officially  known  as  the  "  meditative  "  or  "  illuminative  "  stage  of 
the  mystic's  progress.  As  I  pointed  out  some  pages  back,  this 
second  stage  is  not  necessarily  second  in  time,  but  comes  logi- 
cally after  the  purgative  stage  in  the  course  of  exposition.  As 
a  matter  of  fact  the  negative  and  the  positive  methods  are  car- 
ried on  side-by-side,  and  the  mystic  as  long  as  he  lives  is  per-j 
petually  practicing  both. 

The  value  of  the  negative  methods  and  their  psychological  ex-  \ 
planation  may  be  summed  up  in  the  word  inhibition.     Their 
aim  is  to  keep  out  from  the  mind  the  undesirable  and  to  leave  it 
free  from  all  that  is  irrelevant  and  distracting.     The  value  of 
the  positive  methods  may  be  expressed  by  another  common    , 
psychological   term : —  auto-suggestion.     They   are   the   means  T^ 
which  the  mystic  uses  to  get  his  attention  under  the  control  of 
the  proper  ideas  and  emotions,   so  that  these  may  dominate 
his  whole  mind  and  his  whole  activity.     To  say  that  inhibition 
and  auto-suggestion  sum  up  the  aim  and  the  result  of  all  the 
preparatory  methods,  both  negative  and  positive,  may  seem  like 
undue  simplification;  but  if  these  terms  be  taken  in  a  large  \ 
sense  they  do  cover  the  whole  ground. 

The   positive   methods   of   the   "  meditative "  stage   consist/^  j^ 
then,  in  a  long  continued  course  of  suggesting  to  oneself,  by    "^ 
direct  and  indirect  means,  that  God  is  present.     Probably  the 
most  important  of  these  methods  is  the  "  practice  of  the  pres- 
ence of  God,"  —  the  habit,  diligently  cultivated,  of  keeping  con-   . 
stantly  either  in  the  fringe  or  in  the  center  of  one's  mind  the,--^ 
thought  that  God  is  present  or  that  He  is  even  within  one.     If 
the  latter  is  found  difficult  of  attainment.  Catholic  writers  rec- 
ommend that  the  novitiate  begin  by  training  the  imagination 
to  picture  Christ  present  at  our  side  in  the  flesh.     When  the 
ability  to  do  this  with  some  ease  has  been  attained,  one  should  go 
on  to  realize  the  presence  of  God  about  one  —  to  see  Him  by  the 
eye  of  faith.     Thus  finally  one  will  be  able  to  realize  (and  con- 
stantly suggest  to  oneself)  the  presence  of  God  within  one.*^      --,^ 

Meanwhile,  the  mystic  is  seeking  by  the  constant  practice  of   V 
prayer  to  come  to  a  closer  and  closer  union  with  God  and  a     \ 

«  Cf.  Alvarez  de  Paz,  "  La  Preparation,"  Lib.  V,  Para  I,  Chap.  VIII,  IX, 
and  X,  quoted  and  summarized  by  Lejeune,  Chapter  III. 


388  THE  PiELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

deeper  experience  of  His  presence.  And  knowing  that  even 
small  matters  and  the  environment  are  of  importance,  he  sees 
to  it  that  at  the  time  when  he  makes  orison  all  the  conditions  are 
favorable.  Solitude  he  knows  is  almost  an  essential  and  he 
sees  to  it  that  he  is  alone.  Even  the  bodily  posture  may  help 
the  concentration  of  the  mind  on  the  sacred  theme  which 
should  dominate  it;  for  by  long  continued  habit  certain  atti- 
tudes and  gestures,  such  as  kneeling,  clasping  the  hands,  mak- 
ing the  sign  of  the  cross,  etc.,  have  become  associated  with 
the  religious  mood.  Hence,  especially  if  he  finds  difficulty  in 
keeping  his  mind  fixed  upon  the  subject  chosen  for  his  medi- 
tation, the  mystic  tries  various  devices  of  posture  and  bodily 

/    activity  until  he  finds  one  that  proves  helpful.^"* 

It  is  probably  the  mystics  of  India  who  have  most  refined 
upon  the  art  of  influencing  mental  states  by  physical  and  physi- 
ological conditions.  One  device  w4iich  they  have  practiced  for 
centuries  as  a  means  of  cultivating  the  religious  attitude  of 
mind  is  the  control  of  the  breath.  This  practice  originated, 
I  suspect,  in  some  long-outgrown  animistic  theory,  but  there  is 
probably  more  than  theory  in  its  continuation.     The  religious 

[^mood,  like  every  other,  being  largely  dependent  upon  the  con- 

\  dition  and  the  activities  of  the  body,  it  is  possible  to  control  it 
to  some  extent  by  controlling  them.  Many  of  the  organic  ac- 
tivities which  affect  mood  are  not  controllable  by  the  will,  but 
breathing  is.  The  rate  of  breathing,  moreover,  affects  directly 
the  excitement-calm  "  dimension  "  of  feeling  —  rapid  breath- 
ing being  associated  with  the  former,  deep  and  slow  breathing 
with  the  latter.  By  controlling  the  breath  the  Indian  devotee 
is  therefore  able  to  do  at  least  something  toward  determining 

\^the  nature  of  his  religious  emotion. A  What  more  there  may  be 
in  it  I  do  not  yet  see,  but  it  seems  probable  that  there  is  a 

*♦  "  *  S'il  V0U8  arrive,  Philothee,  dira  saint  Francois  de  Sales,  de  n'avoir 
point  de  goGt  ni  de  consolation  en  la  meditation,  .  .  .  piquez  quelque  fois 
votre  coeur  par  quelque  contenance  et  mouvement  de  devotion  ext^rieur, 
VOU8  prosternant  en  terre,  croisant  les  mains  sur  I'estomac,  embrassant  un 
crucifix.  .  .  .'  ficoutons  maintenant  saint  Ignace :  '  Je  commencerai  ma 
contemplation  tantot  &  genoux,  tantot  prosterne,  tantot  etondu  sur  la 
terre,  le  visage  vers  le  ciel,  tantot  assis,  tantOt  debout.  .  .  .  Si  je  trouve 
ce  que  je  desire  &  genoux  ou  prostern6  je  ne  chercherai  pas  une  autre 
position.'"  De  Montmorand,  "  Ascetisme  et  Mysticisme."  {Revue  Phi- 
losophique,  LVII,  249.) 


THE  "  MYSTICS  ''  AND  THEIR  METHODS      389 

good  deal  more.  Until  some  western  psychologist,  however, 
shall  take  a  long  course  under  an  Indian  guru  and  finally  turn 
Sadhu  we  shall  probably  remain  in  the  dark  as  to  the  full  ex- 
planation of  the  breathing  methods.  Many  other  devices  be- 
sides that  of  controlling  the  breath  have  been  regularly  used 
by  Indian  holy  men,  some  of  them  skillfully  adapted  to  the 
concentration  of  attention  and  the  gradual  narrowing  of  its 
scope,  as  well  as  for  the  production  of  certain  religious  emo- 
tions. A  classical  example  of  these  psychological  methods  will 
be  found  in  a  note  —  a  passage  from  the  Gita  in  which  Krishna 
gives  directions  to  his  worshiper.*^ 

The  Moslem  Sufis  and  Dervishes  have  devised  methods  for 
inducing  desirable  forms  of  religious  emotion  only  less  elabor- 
ate than  the  Indian.  The  Dervishes  have  learned  the  influence 
of  breath-control  over  feeling,  and  in  their  exciting  religious  ex- 
ercises make  use  of  it  and  of  rhythmic  and  violent  swaying  of 
the  body,  at  the  same  time  controlling  their  attention  by  the 
enthusiastic  repetition  of  the  sacred  phrase  La  ilaha  ilia  llah 
(There  is  no  God  but  God).^^     It  is,  however,  the  Sufis  who 

45  «  A  devotee  should  constantly  devote  himself  to  abstraction,  remain- 
ing in  a  secret  place,  alone,  with  his  mind  and  self  restrained,  without 
expectations  and  without  belongings.  Fixing  his  seat  firmly  in  a  clean 
place,  not  too  high  nor  too  low  [in  order,  evidently,  that  the  mind  should 
not  be  distracted  by  anything  in  the  bodily  attitude]  and  covered  with  a 
sheet  of  cloth,  a  deerskin  and  kusa  grass,  and  there  seated  on  that  seat, 
fixing  his  mind  exclusively  on  one  point,  with  the  workings  of  the  mind 
and  the  senses  restrained,  he  should  practice  devotion  for  purity  of  self. 
Holding  his  body,  head,  and  neck  even  and  unmoved,  remaining  steady, 
looking  at  the  tip  of  his  own  nose,  and  not  looking  about  in  various  di- 
rections, with  a  tranquil  self,  devoid  of  fear,  he  should  restrain  his  mind 
and  concentrate  it  on  Me  and  sit  down  engaged  in  devotion,  regarding 
Me  as  his  final  goal.  Thus  constantly  devoting  himself  to  abstraction,  a 
devotee  whose  mind  is  restrained  attains  that  tranquillity  which  culmi- 
nates in  final  emancipation  and  assimilation  with  Me."  Translation  by 
Telang,  in  S.  B.  E.  American  Edition,  Vol.  VIII,  Part  II,  pp.  68-69.  For 
other  classical  descriptions  of  Indian  methods  see  the  Kshurika  Upani- 
shad,  translated  by  Deusscn  in  his  "  Sechzig  Upanishads  des  Veda  "  (Leip- 
zig; Brockhaus;  1905),  pp.  634-36;  and  "The  Yoga  System  of  Pantan- 
jali,"  translated  by  Woods  (Harvard  Univ.  Press;  1914),  especially  books 
I  and  II.  The  various  kinds  of  Yoga  practiced  to-day  in  India  are  largely 
elaborations  upon  the  ancient  methods.  For  an  interesting  account  of  an 
attempt  made  by  a  European  to  follow  out  the  bodily  and  mental  exer- 
cises of  the  Hatha  Yoga,  see  James's  address  on  *'  The  Energies  of  Men," 
published  in  Science,  XXV,  326-29. 

46  For  an  excellent  and  sympathetic  account  of  the  dervish  zikr  see  Mac- 


390  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

have  made  the  subtlest  use  of  psychological  devices  to  induce  the 
mystic  state,  and  I  therefore  embody  in  a  note  Macdonald's 
account  of  the  methods  used  by  the  school  of  al-Ghazzali.'*^  I 
should  add  that  some  of  al-Ghazzali's  followers  have  intro- 
duced into  it  elaborate  methods  of  breath  control  similar  to  the 
Indian. 

These  external  methods  whether  used  by  Indian,  Moslem,  or 
Christian,  of  course  are  indirect  and  are  valuable  only  in  so 
far  as  they  aid  in  mental  concentration.  A  more  direct  means 
is  the  purely  mental  one  of  "  meditation.'^  The  mystic  here 
seeks  to  concentrate  his  attention  on  purely  religious  themes. 
Perfect  concentration  is  not  yet  possible;  the  mind  is  still 
subject  to  the  law  of  constant  change  and  cannot  fix  its  at- 
tention for  any  length  of  time  upon  any  single  object,  hence 
some  changing  and  developing  subject  is  chosen  and  the  at- 
tention closely  follows  its  course.  Ignatius  Loyola,  one  of  the 
great  systematizers  and  directors,  recommends  to  beginners  that 
\  this  form  of  meditation  should  invoke  the  imagination,"*®  the 

donald's  "Aspects  of  Islam"  (New  York;  Macmillan;  1911),  Lecture  V. 
Borne  years  ago  I  attended  one  of  these  exciting  exercises  and  can  testify 
to  its  emotional  effect. 
/  47  *'  The  course  which  is  advised  is  as  follows.  Let  the  seeker  sever  all 
/  the  ties  of  this  world  and  empty  it  from  his  heart.  Let  him  cut  away  all 
anxiety  for  family,  wealth,  children,  home;  for  knowledge,  rule,  ambition. 
Let  him  reduce  his  heart  to  a  state  in  which  the  existence  of  anything  and 
its  non-existence  are  the  same  to  him.  Then  let  him  sit  alone  in  some 
corner,  limiting  his  religious  duties  to  what  are  absolutely  incumbent,  and 
not  occupying  himself  with  reciting  the  Quran  or  considering  its  meaning, 
with  books  of  religious  traditions  or  anything  of  the  like.  And  let  him 
Bee  to  it  that  nothing  save  God  most  High  enters  his  mind.  Then  as  he 
sits  alone  in  solitude,  let  him  not  cease  saying  continuously  with  his 
tongue,  '  Allah,  Allah,'  keeping  his  thought  on  it.  At  last  he  will  reach 
a  state  where  the  motion  of  his  tongue  will  cease,  and  it  will  seem  as 
though  the  word  flowed  from  it.  Let  him  persevere  in  this  until  all  trace 
of  motion  is  removed  from  his  tongue,  and  he  finds  his  heart  persevering 
in  the  thought.  Let  him  still  persevere  until  the  form  of  the  word,  its 
letters  and  shape,  is  removed  from  his  heart,  and  there  remains  the  idea 
alone,  as  though  clinging  to  his  heart,  inseparable  from  it.  .  ,  .  Nothing 
now  remains  but  to  await  what  God  will  open  to  him.  If  he  follows  the 
above  course,  he  may  be  sure  that  the  light  of  the  real  will  shine  out  in 
his  heart."  ("Religious  Attitude  and  Life  in  Islam."  University  of  Chi- 
cago Press;  1909,  pp.  255-56.)  The  student  of  Indian  religions  will  be 
reminded  of  the  use  by  Indian  mystics  of  the  repetition  of  sacred  names, 
such  as  Om,  Krishna,  etc. 

*8  Which  he  calls  the  "  memory." 


THE  ''  MYSTICS  "  AND  THEIR  METHODS      391 

understanding,  and  the  will.  One,  for  example,  may  choose 
a  theme  in  the  life  of  Christ  and  depict  it  to  oneself  in  sensuous 
imagery.  Or  one  may  consider  some  religious  truth  and  its^ 
bearings  and  relations.  And  in  connection  with  both  of  these 
one  should  exercise  one's  will  and  one's  affections,  arousing,  in 
connection  with  each  sacred  scene  or  theological  truth,  the  ap-i 
propriate  emotion.  ^ 

Let  no  one  think  the  exercise  of  meditation  an  easy  matter. 
Saint  Teresa  says  of  it,  "  For  years  I  occupied  myself  less  with 
useful  and  holy  reflections  than  with  the  desire  to  hear  the 
clock  announce  the  end  of  the  hour  consecrated  to  prayer. 
Often,  I  confess,  I  should  have  preferred  the  rudest  sort  of 
penance  to  the  torment  of  meditation."  *^  For  the  beginner, 
especially  if  he  be  chiefly  an  imitator  who  is  seeking  the  mystic 
state  as  described  to  him  by  others  and  by  means  of  rules  laid 
down  for  him  by  others,  there  are  indeed  many  difficulties  and 
many  discouragements,  '-^t  is  no  easy  thing  to  become  a  mystic 
byrule.  And  here  let  me  add  that  the  systematic  training 
prescribed  by  such  writers  as  Loyola  ^^  presents  the  practice  of 
the  imitators  rather  than  that  of  the  great  mystics.  While  these 
have  indeed  been  diligent  in  the  use  of  both  the  negative  and 
the  positive  methods  of  purgation  and  meditation,  and  while 
they  have  carefully  followed  the  advice  of  their  spiritual  di- 
rectors, they  have  to  a  large  extent  been  a  law  unto  themselves, 
each  working  out  by  a  process  of  trial  and  error  the  method 
most  useful  for  him,  and  many  of  them  coming  to  the  goal  of 

«  Vie.  p.  78. 

50  See  Loyola's  "  Exercitia  Spiritualia"  (Romae,  1615).  This  gives  a 
series  of  most  elaborate  and  systematic  meditations,  for  the  training  of  the 
imagination,  to  be  gone  through  on  successive  days  at  various  stated 
hours.  That  St.  Ignatius  knew  the  value  of  the  sensuous  in  bringing 
about  reality  feeling  is  shown  by  his  repeated  admonitions  to  direct  the 
imagination  toward  each  of  the  senses  in  turn  as  it  seeks  to  conjure  up 
the  scene  which  is  the  subject  of  the  particular  meditation.  Thus  in  the 
"  Contemplatio  de  Inferno,"  "  Punctum  primum  est  spectare  per  imagina- 
tionem  vasta  inferorum  incendia,  et  animas  igneis  quibusdam  corporibus, 
velut  ergastulis  inclusas.  Secundum,  audire  imaginarie  plactus,  einlatus, 
vociferationes,  atque  blasphemias  in  Christum,  et  Sanctos  eius  illinc  eru- 
pentes.  Tertium,  imaginario  etiam  olfactu  fumu,  sulphur,  et  sentinae 
cuiusdam  feu  faecis,  atque  putredinis  graveolentiam  persentire.  Quartum, 
gustare  similiter  res  amarissimas.  ut  lachrymas,  rancorem,  conscientiaeque 
vermen.  Quintu,  tagere  quodomodo  ignes  illos,  quorum  tactu  animae 
ipsae  amburantur  "  (pp.  39-40). 


392  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

their    longing    quite    suddenly    and    sometimes    spontaneously. 

(^  The  kind  of  meditation  on  many  sacred  themes  which  has 
just  been  described,  if  faithfully  followed,  is  likely  to  lead 
at  last  to  a  new  kind  of  experience  which  the  French  mystics 
call  the  ''  oraison  aifective."  At  this  stage  reasoning  and  argu- 
mentation and  discursive  thought  are  no  longer  needed  and 
give  way  to  an  omntioual  conviction ;  and  in  like  manner  im- 
agery becomes  less  important  and  its  place  is  largely  taken  by 
a  succession  of  appropriate  and  corresponding  emotions. 
Finally  the  constant  change  of  mental  content  which  usually 
characterizes  waking  consciousness  becomes  less  pronounced  and 
less  swift,  and  the  multiplicity  of  ideas  and  even  of  emotions 
less  varied.  The  field  of  consciousness  is  limited  and  the  at- 
tention is  able  to  cling  longer  to  one  object  than  before.  Of 
course  this  object  —  which  is  almost  invariably  some  form  of 
the  idea  of  God  —  is  not  a  stark  and  changeless  unity.  Even  in 
extreme  forms  of  ecstasy,  as  the  descriptions  of  the  mystics 
show,  there  is  constant  change  of  mental  content.  Normal  at- 
tention to  a  single  unchanging  object  lasts  from  five  to  eight  sec- 
onds, with  a  maximum  of  perhaps  forty ;  and  there  is  no  reason 
to  suppose  that  the  mystic  goes  beyond  this.  But  when  he  has 
reached  this  last  preparatory  stage  which  I  have  just  described 
—  the  "  oraison  de  simple  regard  "  or  *'  d'attention  amoureuse 
a  Dieu  present/'  as  the  French  call  it  —  the  changing  object  of 

,  consciousness  has  a  peculiar  unity,  and  its  variations  are  con- 

Lfined  to  a  small  circle.^  ^ 

j  When  the  mystic  has  reached  this  utmost  achievement  of 
"  meditation  "  (which  here,  indeed,  deserves  the  name  "  con- 
templation ")  he  is  on  the  very  verge  of  the  full  realization 
of  the  mystic  experience.  "  There  comes  a  day,"  says  Lejeune, 
"  while  the  soul  is  making  its  orison,  that  it  feels  its  spiritual 
sense  suddenly  awakening;  it  becomes  conscious  of  the  presence 
of  God  in  a  way  quite  new.  It  is  but  a  flash  that  lasts  only  a 
moment,  but  it  is  enough  for  the  soul  to  be  sure  that  a  chasm 

,  separates  this  way  of  feeling  God,  of  being  united  to  God, 
and  all  the  usual  modes  of  meditation.     It  is  enough  to  assure 

51  Cf .  Lejeune,  op.  cit.,  pp.  302-06,  325-27.     Poulain,  "  Des  Graces  d'Orai- 
8on,"  pp.  7-10. 


THE  "  MYSTICS  "  A:N'D  THEIE  METHODS      393 

it  that  it  has  been  transported  for  a  moment  into  a  new 
world/'  ^^  It  is  this  new  manner  of  feeling  God  and  of  being 
united  to  Him  that  we  are  to  study  in  the  following  chapter. 

62  Op.  cit.,  p.  327. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

THE    ECSTASY 

In  the  preceding  chapter  we  studied  the  two  preliminary 
stages  of  the  more  extreme  form  of  mysticism  —  the  "  purga- 
tive "  and  the  "  ilhiminative  "  or  "  meditative  '^  stages  as  they 
are  called  by  the  systematizers  —  and  at  last  we  have  reached 
the  third  or  "  unitive  "  stage,  the  goal  of  all  the  mystic's  painful 
preparation.  This  third  stage  is  both  a  kind  of  experience 
and  a  kind  of  life.  In  this  latter  sense  it  is  described  thus 
by  Ribet: 

<"  "  Finally,  love  becomes  dominant  and  is  unified  with  the 
divine  good  will.  The  soul  cares  less  about  avoiding  hell  and 
gaining  heaven  and  more  about  pleasing  her  well-beloved.  Her 
desire  is  to  free  herself  from  all  that  is  not  God,  and  even  to 
quit  the  world  and  life  in  order  to  enjoy  the  presence  of  God 

i  fully  and  indissolubly."  ^ 

r     While  the  third  stage  of  the  mystic  progress  is  for  many  a 

I  mystic,  and  especially  for  the  greatest,  a  life  rather  than  a 
particular  experience,  it  involves  for  all  mystics  a  special  type 
of  experience  which  because  of  its  striking  character  is  re- 
garded as  the  mystic  state  par  excellence  and  which  distin- 
guishes it  more,  perhaps,  than  anything  else  from  the  life  of 
the  ordinary  moral  and  religious  but  non-mystical  individual. 
This  experience  is  commonly  known  as  the  ecstasy,  and  I  shall 
regularly  use  this  term  to  designate  it.^  It  usually  makes  its 
first  appearance  at  the  beginning  of  the  "  mystic  life  "  and  re- 
appears from  time  to  time,  being  perhaps  both  partial  cause 
and  partial  result  of  that  new  way  of  living.  This,  however, 
is  not  the  universal  rule ;  some  attain  to  the  mystic  life  with  no 
such  extreme  experience,  and  many  taste  the  experience  but  are 

V  unable  to  fill  their  lives  with  the  mystic  spirit  and  let  it  domi- 

1  "  La  Mystique  Divine,"  Vol.  I,  p.  16. 

2  The  term  is  limited  by  various  Catholic  writers  to  a  particular  phase 
of  the  mystic  experience. 

394 


THE  ECSTASY  395 

nate  them.  The  ecstasy,  being  the  more  striking  phenomenon 
of  the  two,  has  naturally  attracted  most  of  the  attention  of  the 
psychologists  and  has  even  been  regarded  as  constituting  the 
whole  of  mysticism.^  But  if  the  great  mystics  themselves 
should  be  consulted  I  fancy  they  would  put  the  emphasis  in 
quite  a  different  place.  For  most  of  them  the  essential  thing 
has  been  the  life,  the  ecstatic  experience  being  extremely  im- 
portant indeed,  but  after  all  secondary  to  the  constant  sense  of 
the  divine  guidance  and  the  complete  submission  of  the  self  ' 
to  the  will  of  God./  Both  ecstasy  and  the  mystic  life,  however, 
are  of  importance  and  must  be  studied  separately.  And  as  the 
ecstasy  is  most  characteristic  of  the  earlier  part  of  the  mystic's 
life  we  shall  begin  with  it.  _, 

Ecstasy  differs   from   "  meditation  "  —  the  stage  that   pre-  \ 
ceded  it  —  both  in  character  and  in  development,  both  in  the 
mental  content  found  at  any  one  moment  and  in  the  law  of 
the  change  of  that  content  from  moment  to  moment.     Perhaps 
the  most  marked  difference  in  character,   according  to  most 
Catholic  writers,  is  the  substitution  of  passivity  for  activity. 
In  all  the  long  preliminary  training  of  the  mystics  —  and  most 
of  all,  perhaps,  in  meditation  —  a  constant  exertion  of  the  will 
is  required.     But  when  at  length  the  new  and  long-desired  ex- 
perience comes  "  like  a  flash  "  into  the  heart,  the  mystic  knows 
that  he  has  nothing  more  to  do  but  wait  and  accept  what  is 
given  him.     Thus,  at  any  rate,  say  the  literary  mystics  and    . 
systematizers.     His  work  is  done,  and  from  now  on  what  hap-^  -^ 
pens  in  his  soul  must  be  the  work  of  God.     Substituting  psy-  A 
chological  for  theological  terms,  we  might  say  that  by  long  ex- 
ertion of  the  will  certain  obscure  psycho-physiological  processes 
have  been  started,  and  that  these  now  continue  to  function  of 
themselves,  in  such  a  way  that  further  volitional  effort  not 
only  would  be  of  no  assistance  but  might  even  tend  to  inhibit 
the  process.     This  is  by  no  means  peculiar  to  mysticism  but 
has  numerous  analogies  in  other  mental  processes.     The  case 
of  habitual  and  instinctive  action,  for  instance,  is  quite  parallel. 
Once  the  habit  is  gained   (or  the  instinct  inherited)   and  the 
proper  stimulus  received,  the  action  works  itself  off  mechani-  % 
cally,  and  any  attempt  at  guiding  it  throws  the  mechanism  out  \ 

3  This,  e.g.,  is  Murisier's  view. 


(. 


396  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 


of  gear  or  even  inhibits  the  action  altogether.  The  process  of 
putting  oneself  to  sleep  is  similar  in  principle,  and  oifers  a 
closer  analogy  to  the  inducing  of  ecstasy.  By  a  long  and  pain- 
ful process  of  picturing  sheep  jumping  over  fences,  or  saying  our 
multiplication  table  up  into  the  thirteens,  or  counting  backwards 
in  German,  wo  may  inhibit  the  disturbing  ideas,  narrow  the  Qon- 
scious  field,  and  thus  at  last  (by  considerable  effort  of  will)  get 
the  mind  started  in  a  suitable  direction  and  at  a  promising  pace. 
If  then,  just  at  the  right  moment,  we  know  enough  to  take  our 
metaphorical  hands  off,  the  mental  mechanism  will  carry  us 
safely  into  the  land  of  sleep,  and  thought  turn  into  dream. 
But  if  we  interfere  and  try  again  to  guide  the  process,  alas, 

Lwe  are  wide  awake  and  the  sheep  and  the  numbers  must  begin 
jumping  and  multifying  once  more.  \  The  similarity  between 
this  common  experience  and  the  oncoming  of  the  ecstasy  will  be 
seen  from  the  following  directions  of  Mme.  Guyon : 

During  meditation,  ^^  it  is  best  to  pause  softly  upon  some  sub- 
stantial idea,  not  with  argumentation,  but  merely  as  a  means 
of  fixing  attention."  "  When  at  length  the  soul  begins  to  per- 
ceive the  odor  of  the  divine  perfumes  ...  it  is  of  great  im- 
portance to  put  an  end  to  one's  own  activity  in  order  to  let  God 
act.  Keep  yourself  in  repose.  ...  [At  first]  it  is  necessary 
to  blow  the  fire  gently;  but  as  soon  as  it  is  lighted,  cease  to 
blow,  for  by  blowing  you  may  extinguish  it."  * 

r  Besides  the  passive  nature  of  the  ecstasy  another  characteris- 
tic of  its  content  is  its  relative  unity  and  the  narrovmess  of  its 
conscious  field.  To  a  considerable  extent  the  outside  world  is 
shut  out  and  the  senses  are  closed  —  in  the  extreme  form  com- 
pletely so.  The  variety  which  ordinarily  characterizes  the  ob- 
ject of  consciousness  is  considerably  reduced,  and  in  fact  nearly 
everything  is  pushed  out  of  the  mind  but  the  idea  of  God  and 
the  congruent  emotions  of  joy  and  love.  These  fill  the  mind 
to  the  exclusion  of  almost  everything  else,  and  are  themselves 
blended  into  a  single  whole.  It  is  not  that  the  mystic  believes 
God  to  be  present ;  he  feels  God  united  with  his  soul,  so  that 
this  immediate  awareness  and  its  strong  emotional  accompani- 
\  ment  leave  no  room  in  his  consciousness  for  anything  else.*^ 

*  From  the  "  Moyen  court  et  facile  de  fairo  Oraison,"  r|noted  by  Leuba  in 

"  Tendances  relisrieuses  chez  Ics  Mystiques  Chretiens,"  Rev.  Phil.,  LIV,  453. 

5  Cf .  Poulain's  two  "  theses  "  by  which  the  mystic  union  is  to  be  distin- 


THE  ECSTASY  397 

The  ecstasy,  moreover,  (as  I  have  already  said)  has  not 
only  its  otvtl  characteristic  content  but  its  own  characteristic 
course  of  development  as  well.  For  of  course  the  content  has 
to  change;  otherwise  the  oncoming  of  ecstasy  would  mean  the 
immediate  oncoming  of  sleep.  This  development  may  be^ 
summed  up  very  briefly  as  a  gradual  process  of  substituting 
emotional  for  ideational  content,  and  a  corresponding  process 
of  constantly  narrowing  the  field  of  consciousness.  More  and 
more  the  mind  becomes  shut  off  from  the  outer  world,  "  retiring 
into  itself  "  and  shutting  the  doors  of  its  senses  (to  use  a  com- 
mon figure)  ;  the  inner  unity  becomes  more  intense;  the  object 
of  consciousness  possesses  constantly  less  variety  and  its  change 
is  at  a  slower  rate ;  the  ideas  that  remain  become  more  vague 
and  give  place  to  emotion ;  and  while  the  emotion  itself  does  not 
absolutely  grow  and  may  even  diminish  (so  far  at  least  as  we 
can  speak  of  any  absolute  measure  here),  it  gains  greatly  in 
relative  importance.  The  ideal  limit  toward  which  this  varia- 
tion tends  is  of  course  a  state  of  almost  pure  emotion  which  it- 
self gradually  vanishes  away  and  yields  to  complete  unconscious-  / 
ness. 

What  I  have  just  described  is  the  course  which  the  ecstatic 
process  takes  (in  psychological  theory,  at  least)  when  carried 
to  its  extreme  limit.  But  it  must  be  noted  that  as  a  fact  the 
process  is  seldom  completed.  Most  mystics  go  only  a  little  way 
in  the  ecstasy  and  then  return  to  the  ordinary  form  of  conscious- 
ness. I  have  here  sketched  an  outline  of  the  whole  process 
in  its  theoretical  completeness  in  order  that  we  msiy  have  it  all 
before  us  as  an  aid  in  our  more  careful  study  of  its  various  de- 
tails. Much  more  elaborate  and  systematic  descriptions  of  the 
development  of  the  ecstasy  are  given  by  some  of  the  great  mys- 

guished  from  all  lower  forms  of  orison  are:  (1)  "  Les  etats  mystiques  qui 
mettent  en  rapport  avec  Dieu  attirent  tout  d'abord  I'attention  par  I'im- 
pression  de  recueillement,  d'union  qu'ils  font  ^prouver,  De  la  le  nom 
d'union  mystique.  Leur  vraie  difference  avec  les  recueillements  de  I'orai- 
8on  ordinaire,  c'est  que  dans  T^tat  mystique  Dieu  ne  se  contente  plus  de 
nous  aider  Jl  penser  a  lui  et  h  nons  souvenir  de  sa  presence;  ma  is  il  nous 
donne  de  cette  presence,  une  connaissance  intellectuelle  exp^rimentale." 
(2)  "  Ce  qui  constitue  le  fond  commun  de  tous  les  degr^s  de  I'union  mys- 
tique, c'est  que  I'impression  spirituelle  par  laquelle  Dieu  manifesto  sa 
presence,  le  fait  sentir  jI  la  maniore  de  quelque  chose  d'intMevr,  dont 
rSme  est  p^n^tr^e;  c'est  une  sensation  d'imhihition,  de  fusion,  d'immer- 
sion."     "  Des  Graces  d'Oraison,"  pp.  66  and  90. 


398  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

tics  and  bv  various  Catholic  directors :  for  since  the  time  of 
Hugo  of  St.  Victor  mysticism  has  been  treated  analytically  by 
the  Church  and  systematized  into  various  stages. 

There  would  be  little  purpose  in  reproducing  here  all  of 
these  various  (and  somewhat  varying)  systematizations,  but  it 
may  be  well  to  have  one  of  them  before  us,  as  the  systematizers 
who  made  them  have  often  been  gifted  with  rare  powers  of  in- 
trospection and  psychological  analysis.     Probably  the  best  of 

jthese  orderly  expositions  of  the  mystic  development,  and  the  one 
that  has  had  the  most  influence,  is  that  of  St.  Teresa  in  her 
last  great  work,  the  "  Chateau  Interieur."  According  to  her 
there  are  four  degrees  of  the  mystic  union  with  God,®  namely 
(1)  the  incomplete  mystic  union,  or  "  oraison  de  quietude,"  (2) 
complete  or  semi-ecstatic  union;  (3)  the  ecstatic  union;  or 
ecstasy  in  the  stricter  and  more  limited  sense;  (4)  the  trans- 
forming union  or  spiritual  marriage.  Only  the  first  three  of 
these  belong  to  what  I  have  referred  to  as  "  ecstasy  "  (in  the 
broader  sense  of  the  word),  the  fourth  being  no  transitory  state 
but  an  almost  constant  condition,  and  representing,  in  fact,  the 
highest  type  of  what  (following  Delacroix)  I  have  called  "  the 

I  mvstic  life." 

/     The  first  three  of  St.  Teresa's  stages  are  in  most  essentials 

[   alike,   differing  from  each  other  chiefly  in  intensity.     What 

\  difference  there  is  between  them  Poulain  (who  interprets  St. 

I  Teresa  admirably)  expresses  as  follows : 

{  "The  mystic  union  is  called  (1)  Quietude  when  the  divine 
/  action  is  still  too  feeble  to  prevent  distractions,  that  is,  when  the 
imagination  is  still  free.  (2)  Complete  Union  when  it  has  the 
two  following  characteristics:  (a)  its  intensity  is  so  great  that 
the  soul  is  completely  occupied  with  the  divine  object,  i.  e.  it  is 
not  turned  aside  by  any  other  thought ;  (b)  on  the  other  hand, 
the  senses  continue  to  act,  in  such  a  way  that  one  can  still,  by 
more  or  less  effort,  put  oneself  in  touch  with  the  outer  world  by 
speaking,  walking,  etc.,  and  can  arouse  himself  from  his  orison. 

i   (3)  Ecstasy,  when  the  divine  action  has  considerable  force  and 

6  This  four-fold  division  must  not  be  confused  with  the  four-fold  divi- 
sion of  orwison  given  by  Teresa  in  Chapters  XI  to  XXI  of  the  Yie.  The 
Chateau  Interieur  describes  seven  "  demeures  "  of  the  soul,  but  the  first 
three  cannot  be  called  "union."  (See  French  translation  by  Bouix, 
Paris,  Lecoffre:   1907.; 


THE  ECSTASY  399 

when  all  communication  of  the  senses  with  the  outer  world  is 
broken  off  or  nearly  so;  and  when,  likewise,  one  cannot  make 
voluntary  movements  nor  leave  his  orison  at  will. 

"  It  is  evident,''  continues  Poulain,  "  that  these  definitions 
are  not  vague.  Each  stage  differs  from  that  which  precedes  it 
by  a  new  fact,  and  this  fact  is  directly  and  easily  observable. 
'  Complete  union  '  differs  from  ^  quietude  '  in  the  absence  of  dis- 
tractions, and  ^  ecstasy '  differs  from  '  complete  union  '  by  the 
alienation  of  sense.''  "^ 

This  svstematization  of  the  mvstic  experience  into  definite 
stages  which  follow  each  other  regTilarly  must  not  be  taken  too 
seriously.  Even  the  Catholic  systematizers  recognize  that  there 
is  nothing  sacred  in  their  divisions,  and  that  almost  any  amount 
of  irregularity  in  the  process  is  possible.^  The  variations  in 
these  descriptions  are  sufficient  evidence  of  this;  and  much  of 
the  uniformity  that  is  left  is  doubtless  due  to  more  or  less  con- 
scious imitation.  It  is  hardly  safe  to  give  a  more  elaborate 
picture  of  the  development  of  the  ecstasy  than  the  rather  vague 
and  general  one  presented  on  page  397.  Without  delaying 
longer  over  the  order  of  the  various  mystic  phenomena  it  will  be 
well  for  us  to  turn  at  once  to  a  closer  study  of  the  phenomena 
themselves.  "-^ 

The  more  intense  kind  of  mystic  experience,  like  the  milder    ' 
type,  has  two  aspects  which  (though  they  must  always  be  taken  , 

1  Op.  cit.,  pp.  56-57.  St.  Bonaventura  has  "  seven  degrees  of  contempla- 
tion," Gerson  three,  St.  Francois  de  Sales  six,  Alvarez  de  Paz  fifteen.  Scara- 
melli  eleven,  Ribet  (a  recent  Catholic  writer  whose  four-volume  work  on 
the  Mystic  Life  is  scholarly  and  valuable,  althouoh  without  the  psycho- 
logical insight  of  Poulain)  finds  seven  stages  in  "Contemplation" — namely 
the  following:  (1)  "  Le  Recuiellement  passif,"  the  passive  concentration 
of  the  thought  upon  God,  a  "  supernatural ''  condition  which  may  come 
suddenly  and  should  be  greeted  with  an  attitude  of  expectancy;  (2) 
"Quietude"  (practically  the  same  as  St.  Teresa's  first  stage  of  mystic 
union;  (3)  "  Transports  " — this  is  of  four  different  kinds  and  has  no  exact 
counterpart  in  Teresa's  and  Poulain's  scheme;  (4)  "  L'Union  Simple" — 
the  identification  of  the  will  with  God's  will  plus  the  consciousness  of 
union  with  Him;  (5)  "L'Union  Extatique,"  which  differs  from  the  pre- 
ceding stage  in  inhibiting  the  senses  and  concentrating  the  attention  on 
the  divine  so  completely  that  one  sometimes  becomes  unconscious  of  what 
is  happening  to  the  body;  (6)  "  Le  Mariage  Spirituel," — an  habitual  and 
permanent  condition  of  ecstasy,  of  intense  but  calm  joy;  (7)  "La  Vision 
Beatifique,"  a  supreme  stage  which  has  been  experienced  in  this  life  fully 
only  by  Jesus. —  See  Vol.  I,  Chapters  X-XXII. 

8  Cf.  Ribet,  op.  cit..  Vol.  I,  p.  98. 


400  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSXESS 

in  connexrtion  with  each  other)  may  be  studied  most  conveni- 
ently apart.  I  refer,  of  conrse,  to  the  noetic  and  the  emotionj 
elements,  each  of  which  forms  a  necessary  part  of  every  ecstasy. 
It  is  only  in  a  very  special  sense,  however,  that  the  ecstatic 
experience  can  be  called  noetdc.  And  to  understand  clearly 
what  the  mystic  means  when  he  speaks  of  his  revelation  we  must 
(^recall  the  distinction  between  the  two  kinds  of  knowledge  to 
which  reference  was  made  in  the  early  part  of  the  preceding 
chapter.  To  make  the  matter  perfectly  plain  I  can  probably  do 
no  better  here  than  quote  from  James's  ^'  Principles  of  Psy- 
chology " :  ^ 

"  There  are  two  kinds  of  knowledge  broadly  and  practically 
distinguishable;  we  may  call  them  respectively  hnoivledge  of 
acquaintance  and  knowledge-ahout.  Most  languages  express  the 
distinction :  thus  yvwmi,  eiSeVat ;  noscere,  scire ;  kennen,  wissen ; 
connaitre,  savoir  ...  I  know  the  color  blue  Avhen  I  see  it  and 
the  flavor  of  a  pear  when  I  taste  it  .  .  .  but  about  the  inner  na- 
ture of  these  facts  or  what  makes  them  what  they  are  I  can  say 
nothing  at  all.  I  cannot  impart  acquaintance  with  them  to  any- 
one who  has  not  already  made  it  himself.  I  cannot  describe 
them,  make  a  blind  man  guess  what  blue  is  like,  or  tell  a  philos- 
opher in  just  what  respect  distance  is  just  what  it  is,  and  differs 
from  other  forms  of  relation.  At  most  I  can  say  to  my  friends. 
Go  to  certain  places  and  act  in  certain  ways  and  these  objects 
will  probably  come.'' 

^'  Knowledge  of  acquaintance  "  is,  then,  the  immediate  and 
direct  experience  itself,  standing  for  itself  and  not  taken  as 
pointing  to  or  representing  something  else.  It  is  our  sensation, 
or  better  still  our  feelings,  that  are  typical  of  it.  ^'  Knowledge- 
about,"  on  the  other  hand,  is  seen  in  ideas  and  abstract  thought. 
It  is  conceptual,  descriptive,  representative,  communicable.  All 
general  propositions,  descriptions  of  things  which  make  them 
communicable  to  other  minds,  all  "  universals,"  scientific  for- 
mulas, and  the  like,  come  under  this  heading. 

^  Now  while  each  of  these  kinds  of  knowledge  implies  and  re- 
quires to  some  extent  the  other,  the  mystic  experience,  so  far 
as  it  is  noetic  at  all,  is  characterized  by  the  immediate  kind 

\^  of  knowledge,  and  has  relatively  little  to  do  with  hnowledge- 

9  Vol.  I,  p.  221. 


THE  ECSTASY  401 

about;  and  the  mystic,  so  far  as  he  comes  to  theorize  about  the 
nature  of  knowledge  usually  glorifies  the  former  kind  and  de- 
preciates the  latter.  Conceptual,  representative  knowledge  is 
always  pointing  you  elsewliere,  it  is  always  saying,  Reality  is 
not  in  me.  Hence,  think  the  mystics,  it  can  never  give  complete 
satisfaction.  It  is  only  the  beginning  of  one's  search  and  can 
help  one  only  a  little  way  toward  the  Truth.  Only  in  an  im- 
mediate experience  which  stands  for  itself  alone,  can  one  find 
true  reality;  and  most  certainly  of  all,  there  alone  can  one 
find  the  ultimate  Reality  which  is  God.  Thus  Plotinus  says, 
"  Our  apprehension  of  the  One  does  not  partake  of  the  nature 
of  either  understanding  or  abstract  thought  as  does  our  knowl- 
edge of  other  intelligible  objects,  but  has  the  character  of  pre- 
sentation higher  than  understanding.  For  understanding  pro- 
ceeds by  concepts,  and  the  concept  is  a  multiple  affair,  and  the 
soul  misses  the  One  when  she  falls  into  number  and  plurality. 
She  must  then  pass  beyond  understanding  and  nowhere  emerge 
from  her  unity."  ^^ 

The  noetic  element  of  the  mystic  experience  may  therefore  be 
said  to  have  both  a  negative  and  a  positive  aspect.  ^^  It  is  char- 
acterized, that  is,  by  the  relative  lack  of  conceptual  knowledge 
and  abstract  judgments,  on  the  one  hand,  and,  on  the  other, 
by  the  presence  of  a  relatively  intense  immediate  experience, 
which  indeed  necessarily  includes  some  ideation,  but  in  which 
immediacy  is  much  more  prominent  than  representation.  Both 
of  these  characteristics,  for  instance,  are  emphasized  by  such 
typical  expressions  as  the  following : 

"  But  thou,  O  dear  Timothy,"  writes  Dionysius  in  his  "  Mys- 
tic Theology,"  "  by  thy  persistent  commerce  with  the  mystic 
visions,  leave  behind  sensible  perceptions  and  intellectual  efforts 
and  all  objects  of  sense  and  of  intelligence,  and  all  things  being 
and  not  being,  and  be  raised  aloft  unknowingly  to  the  union,  as 
far  as  attainable,  with  Him  who  is  above  every  essence  and 
knowledge.  For  by  the  resistless  and  absolute  ecstasy  in  all 
purity,  from  thyself  and  all  thou  wilt  be  carried  on  high  to  the 

10  "  Enneads,"  VI,  9,  quoted  from  Bakewell's  "  Source  Book  in  Ancieot 
Philosophy,"  p.  367. 

11  Cf.  Pvibet:  "  Selon  les  mystiques,  on  s'eleve  a  la  connaissance  de  Dieu 
par  un  double  procede,  savoir:  par  affirmation  et  par  negation."  Op.  eit., 
Vol.  I,  p.  86. 


402  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

superessential  ray  of  the  divine  darkness,  when  thou  hast  cast 
away  all  and  become  free  from  all."  ^^ 

In  like  manner  Plotinns,  in  a  famous  passage,  asks :     "  How, 
then,  are  we  to  speak  of  the  One  ?     How  can  we  speak  of  it  at 
all,  when  we  do  not  grasp  it  as  itself  ?  "     That  is,   if  God, 
or  the  One,  is  not  to  be  known  by  any  of  the  ordinary,  concep- 
tual, descriptive  ways  of  knowledge,  how  can  we  even  speak  of 
Him  ?     And  Plotinus's   answer   is  based  upon   the  fact   just 
pointed  out  that  there  is  a  positive  as  well  as  a  negative  side 
to  the  mystic  experience.     In  his  own  words,   "  The  answer 
is  that  though  the  One  escapes  our  knowledge,  it  does  not  en- 
tirely escape  us.     We  have  possession  of  it   in  such  a  way 
that  we  speak  of  it,  but  not  in  such  a  way  that  we  can  express 
it.  .  .  .  We  are  like  men  inspired  and  possessed  who  know  only 
that  they  have  in  themselves  something  greater  than  themselves 
—  something  they  know  not  what  —  and  who  therefore  have 
some  perception  of  that  which  has  moved  them,  and  are  driven 
to  speak  of  it  because  they  are  not  (wholly)  one  with  that  which 
moves  them.     So  it  is  with  our  relation  to  the  Absolute  One. 
When  we  use  pure  intelligence  we  recognize  that  it  is  the  mind 
within  the  mind,  the  source  of  being  and  of  all  things  that  are 
of  the  same  order  with  itself ;  but  we  see  at  the  same  time  that 
the  One  is  not  identified  with  any  of  them  but  is  greater  than  all 
we  call  being,  greater  and  better  than  reason  and  intelligence 
and  sense,  though  it  is  that  which  gives  them  whatsoever  reality 
they  have."  ^^ 

Perhaps  the  most  striking  and  yet  the  least  important  char- 
acteristic of  the  mystic  experience  so  far  as  it  is  positively  noetic 
is  the  occasional  phenomenon  of  visions  and  "  locutions." 
Christ  and  various  saints  are  seen,  the  Trinity  is  presented  sym- 
bolically but  visibly  under  the  form  of  a  diamond,'^  .^  truths 

12 "  The    Works    of    Dionysius    the    Areopagite,"    translates,   lb.)    Parker 
(London,  Parker:  1897),  p.  130. 

13  "  Enneads,"  V,  3,  14.  I  have  here  used  Caird's  excellent  translation 
in  his  "Evolution  of  Theology  in  the  Greek  Philosophers '"  (Glasgow, 
Maclehose:  1004),  Vol.  II.  pp.  218-19. 

1*  St.   Teresa   saw  it  thus.     She  also   frequently   had   visions  and   locu-  M 
tions.     Her  description  of  one  of  the  former  I  will  quote  here  as  a  sample 
of  the  whole  class.     The  Savior  appeared  to  her  in  glorious  light  which 
*'  surpasse  infiniment  celle  d'ici-bas,  et  aupres  de  ses  rayons  qui  inondent 
I'cBil  ravi  de  I'ame,  ceux  du  soleil  perdent  tellement  leur  lustre,  qu'on  ne 


THE  ECSTASY  403 

are  heard  inwardly  but  quite  clearly  expressed.  These  visions 
are  rarely  true  hallucinations  but  are  what  psychologists  dis- 
tinguish as  pseudo-hallucinations  ; —  the  subject  even  during  the 
experience  knows  that  it  is  a  vision  that  he  sees.  In  psycho- 
logical structure  and  causation  many  of  these  visions  are  not 
essentially  different  from  dreams. -^^  Sometimes,  in  fact,  they 
are  mere  normal  dreams,  sometimes  they  are  dreams  occurring 
in  abnormal  fashion  while  the  dreamer  is  half  awake,  in  what 
Sidis  would  call  a  hypnoidal  state,  sometimes  they  are  probably 
mere  hypnagogic  hallucinations,  common  1:0  most  of  us  on  the 
approach  or  at  the  close  of  sleep  ;^^  sometimes  they  are  no  more 
than  vivid  memories  of  former  experiences.^'^  The  visions  of 
the  mystics  are  determined  in  content  by  their  belief,  and  are 
due  to  the  dream  imagination  working  upon  the  mass  of  theo- 
logical material  which  fills  the  mind.  It  is  probable  also  that  at 
times  the  vision,  like  the  normal  dream,  originates  from  some 
sensational  stimulus  which  the  imagination  proceeds  to  inter- 
pret and  elaborate.  If  there  be  any  truth  ^^  in  Freud's  in- 
sistence upon  the  symbolic  nature  of  normal  dreams,  it  is  the  - 
less  surprising  that  the  dream  imagination  of  the  Christian 
mystic  should  work  up  visions  of  a  symbolic  sort.  Symbolism 
is  a  striking  characteristic  of  the  visions  of  the  mystics,  as  every- 

voudrait  seulement  pas  ouvrir  les  yeux  pour  les  regarder.  .  .  .  Cette  lu- 
miere  est  un  jour  sans  nuit,  toujours  eclatant,  toujours  lumineux,  sans 
que  rien  soit  capable  de  I'obscurcir.  Enfin  elle  est  telle  que  I'esprit  le 
plus  penetrant  ne  pourrait,  en  toute  sa  vie,  s'en  former  une  idee.  Dieu 
la  montre  si  soudainement  que,  s'il  etait  besoin  pour  I'apercevoir  d'ouvrir 
seulement  les  yeux,  on  n'en  aurait  pas  le  loisir,  mais  il  n'importe  qu'ils 
soient  ouverts  ou  fermes."  "Vie,"  p.  301.  The  chapter  (XXVIII)  in  which 
this  description  occurs  is  devoted  to  a  discussion  of  these  visions. 

15  Some  mystic  vis-ions  are  less  complex  in  content  but  less  normal  in 
cause  —  cf .  a  recent  case  of  vision  of  light  which  occurred  repeatedly  dur- 
ing prayer  through  a  period  of  six  weeks  and  considered  "  God's  Light." 
Dr.  Denby,  who  reports  it,  calls  it  a  case  of  association  neurosis.  {Jour- 
nal of  Abnormal  Psychology,  II,  56.) 

16  Cf.  N.  S.  Yawger,  "  Hypnagogic  Hallucinations  with  Cases  illustrat- 
ing these  Sane  Manifestations,"  Jour,  of  Abnormal  Psychology,  XIII,  73- 
76. 

17  This  fact  was  noticed  by  Teresa  among  the  young  mystics  of  her 
convents.  See  her  "  Le  Livre  des  Fondations "  ( French  translation  by 
Bouix.     Paris,  LecofTre:    1907),  p.  81. 

18  Personally  I  think  there  is  a  little  truth  in  it,  but  a  truth  which  he 
and  his  followers  have  enormously  exaggerated.  Some  dreams  are  prob- 
ably symbolic;  the  great  majority  I  believe  are  not. 


404  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

one  knows  who  has  dipped  into  the  suhject.  The  classical  in- 
stance is,  of  course,  that  of  Kzckiel ;  but  many  mediicval  mystics 
such  as  Elizabeth  of  Schonau  and  Ilildegard  of  Bingen  had 
visions  almost  as  elaborately  symbolical  as  his.*^  Our  modem 
tendency  to  consider  visions  quite  extraordinary  and  patho- 
logical is  probably  mistaken.  According  to  Galton's  investiga- 
tions,"^  visions  (of  a  fragmentary  sort)  are  common  with  many 
normal  persons.  Every  good  visualizer  has  at  times  visual 
images  quite  comparable  in  intensity  with  dreams  or  actual  per- 
cepts. Such  persons  in  their  childhood,  in  fact,  not  infre- 
quently fail  to  distinguish  between  the  real  and  the  imagined. 
As  Galton  suggests,  in  a  community  where  belief  in  the  appari- 
tion of  the  supernatural  is  unquestioned,  even  such  fragmentary 
visions  as  normal  people  of  good  visual  imagery  often  experience 
may  well  be  made  objects  of  great  attention  and  regarded  as 
visions.^^ 

Visions  and  other  hallucinatory  phenomena  I  have  called  the 
least  important  part  of  the  ecstasy  because  they  are  so  consid- 
ered by  the  mystics  themselves.  At  best  they  are  but  unneces- 
sary accessories  to  the  ecstasy  and  are  by  no  means  always 
present.     At  their  worst  they  are  often  considered  by  the  mys- 

19  For    descriptions    of    some   of   these    visions    see   Taylor's    "  Mediaeval 
Mind"  (Ivondon,  Macmillan:  1911),  Vol.  I.  Chap.  XIX. 

20  "  Inquiries  into  Human  Faculty,"  pp.  125-28. 

21  The  Catholic  mystics,  and  more  especially  the  mystic  systematizers, 
distinguish  three  kinds  of  visions:  corporeal,  imaginary,  and  intellectual. 
The  third  class  is  regarded  as  of  special  value  and  thought  to  come  from 
God  alone,  and  to  have  the  peculiar  quality  of  being  without  images. 
Scaramelli  defines  it  as  "  a  clear  and  certain  apprehension  of  some  object 
by  the  intellect  without  any  form  or  figure  of  any  kind  being  seen,  and 
without  any  actual  dependence  on  the  fantasy."  "  Handbook  of  Mystical 
Theology"  (London,  Watkins:  1913),  p.  108.  Teresa  analyzes  such  a  vi- 
sion in  her  "Relations  au  P,  Rodrigue  Alvarez"  (p.  590  of  the  French 
translation  of  the  "Vie"),  and  several  of  the  more  introspective  mystics, 
such  as  John  of  the  Cross  and  Alvarez  de  Paz,  have  done  the  same. 
Suarez  did  not  believe  the  visions  could  really  be  without  images,  and  the 
probability  is  that  the  descriptions  and  assertions  of  the  mystics  are  due 
to  their  lack  of  interest  in  the  subsidiary  images  which  were  what  Pro- 
fessor Strong  would  call  the  "  vehicles "  of  the  intuited  essence.  The 
nature  of  these  visions  is  of  some  psychological  interest  to-day  because  of 
the  recent  theory  of  "  imageless  thought."  ( See,  for  example,  Woodworth, 
"  A  Revision  of  Imageless  Thought,"  Psychological  Review  for  1915,  XXII, 
1-27.)  The  subject  is  discussed  at  some  length  from  the  orthodox  Cath- 
olic point  of  view  by  Pacheu,  "  L'Exp^rience  Mystique,"  pp.  135^9;  Pou- 
lain,  op.  cit.,  Chap.  XX;   Scaramelli,  op.  cit.,  pp.  108-12. 


THE  ECSTASY  405 

tics_  essentially  pathological  —  or,  in  theological  terms,  the  work 
01  Satan.^^ 

Much  more  important  than  sensuous  hallucinatory  phenom- 
ena of  this  sort  is  the  ideational  element  which  forms  the  core 
of  the  ecstasy  and  is  inseparable  from  it.  Eor  the  affective  ele- 
ments of  consciousness,  in  the  mystic  state  as  elsewhere,  are  al- 
ways associated  with  some  central  idea,  around  which  they 
cluster  and  which  in  fact  to  a  considerable  extent  determines 
their  nature.  The  mystic  ecstasy,  therefore,  in  spite  of  its  em- 
phasis on  immediacy,  means  to  be  (to  some  extent)  noetic  or 
cognitive.  I  am  using  the  word  cognitive  here  in  a  psychologi- 
cal rather  than  in  an  epistemological  sense.  Whether  the  mys- 
tic in  his  ecstasy  really  knows  any  genuine  truth  or  merely 
seems  to  himself  so  to  do  is  not  our  question.  /  The  point  I  wish  \ 
to  make  here  is  that  the  ecstasy  is  cognitive  in  form;  it  seems 
to  reveal  reality  to  the  mystic  quite  as  much  as  does  his  sight  or 
his  hearing.  His  experience  does  not  consist  of  mere  feeling, 
but  is  largely  also  one  of  intuition.  It  is  the  sense  of  being 
face-to-face  with  reality.  It  is  the  same  sort  of  cognition  that 
one  has  on  seeing  a  color  or  smelling  an  odor.  Moreover  the 
mystic  intuition  is  seldom  mere  immediacy;  it  is  seldom  unac- 
companied by  some  degree  of  ^'  knowledge  about  '^  —  it  not  only  / 
is  but  it  has  a  message  or  makes  an  assertion  about  some  reality /-" 
or  truth.^^  /  Says  Professor  Ewer,  in  dealing  with  intuition, 
"  its  fundamental  character  is  what  is  frequently  called  ^  self- 
transcendence,'  the  direct  cognition  of  reality  other  or  larger 
than  the  cognitive  state  of  consciousness  itself.  That  is  to 
say,  the  proper  epistemological  conception  of  intuition  makes 
of  it,  not  an  absolutely  peculiar  kind  of  cognitive  process,  occult 
and  totally  different  from  the  processes  of  ordinary  experience, 
but  rather  a  commonplace  character  without  some  measure  of 
which  no  consciousness  would  be  truly  cognitive.  No  less  im- 
portant, however,  is  the  accompaniment,  permeation,  and  modi- 
fication of  this  character  by  the  correlative  character  of  inter- 

22  That  they  are  pathological  phenomena  quite  on  a  level  with  other 
hallucinations,  and  resulting  from  an  hysterical  condition  is,  of  course, 
beyond  doubt.  They  are  paralleled  by  many  purely  pathological  cases. 
Cf.  Marie,  "  Mysticisme  et  Folic."  pp.  140ff  and  2G7ff/ 

23  Compare  what  was  said  in  Chapter  XVI  of  the  outer  reference  in  per- 
ception and  in  the  milder  form  of  the  mystic  experience. 


406  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

pretation.  lutuition  is  seldom  if  ever  pure,  but  it  may  be  gen- 
uine even  when  partial,  imperfect,  biased  by  apperception. 
This  is  not  the  most  popular  or  the  best-known  historical  con- 
cept, but  it  is  the  only  one  which  is  worth  upholding  or  criti- 
cizing." ^* 

f  Whatever  may  be  our  technical  definition  of  intuition,  then, 
the  mystic  experience  is  "  known  as  "  objective  —  not  merely 
as  subjective.  The  mystic  returns  from  it  with  the  certainty  of 
having  there  come  into  contact  with  a  reality  other  than  his  own 
consciousness  and  with  a  new  revelation  of  some  ''  truth  "  (for 
so  he  calls  it)  which  the  experience  has  impressed  upon  his 
l^_mind.  In  illustration  of  this  let  me  quote  here  from  three 
mystics  cited  by  Poulain.  First,  Angela  da  Foligno :  "  All 
that  the  soul  conceives  or  knows  when  it  is  left  to  itself  is  noth- 
ing in  comparison  with  the  knowledge  that  is  given  it  during 
ecstasy.  When  the  soul  is  thus  raised  aloft,  illumined  by  the 
presence  of  God,  when  God  and  it  are  lost  in  each  other,  it  ap- 
prehends and  possesses  with  joy  good  things  which  it  cannot 
describe.  .  .  .  The  soul  swims  in  joy  and  knowledge."  Riba- 
deneira  in  his  Life  of  St.  Ignatius  describes  one  of  his  visions 
as  follows :  "  Absorbed  in  contemplation  of  divine  things,  the 
saint  seated  himself  for  a  time  by  the  road  looking  at  the  stream 
which  crossed  it.  Then  the  eyes  of  his  soul  were  opened  and 
were  inundated  with  light.  He  perceived  nothing  that  fell  un- 
der his  senses,  but  he  comprehended  marvelously  a  great  num- 
ber of  truths  pertaining  to  the  faith  or  to  the  human  sciences. 
They  were  so  numerous  and  the  light  was  so  bright  that  he 
seemed  to  enter  into  a  new  world.  The  abundance  of  this 
knowledge  and  its  excellence  were  so  great  that,  according  to 
Ignatius,  all  that  he  had  learned  in  his  life  up  to  his  sixty-sec- 
ond year,  whether  supernatural  or  through  laborious  study, 
could  not  be  compared  to  that  which  he  gained  at  this  one 
time."  St.  Francis  Xavier  once  said  to  a  distinguished 
scientist  and  philosopher :  ''  I  too,  in  my  youth,  pursued 
knowledge  with  ardor,  and  I  even  prayed  God  to  help  me  at- 
tain it  to  make  me  more  useful  to  my  Congi'egation.  After 
this  prayer  I  found  myself  inundated  by  divine  light ;  it  seemed 

24  "  Veridical  Aspect  of  Mystical  Experience,"  Amer.  Jour,  of  Theology, 
XIII,  578-9. 


THE  ECSTASY  407 

to  me  that  a  veil  was  raised  before  the  eyes  of  my  spirit,  and 
the  truths  of  the  human  sciences,  even  those  which  I  had  never 
studied,  became  manifest  to  me  by  an  infused  intuition,  as  to 
Solomon  of  old."  ^5 

The  "  truths  "  which  the  mystics  carry  away  with  them  from  > 
the  ecstasy,  or  hold  more  firmly  because  of  the  ecstasy,  differ 
with  different  individuals.  Their  general  tendency,  as  Profes- 
sor James  points  out,^^  is  towards  optimism  and  monism.  /^ 
Professor  Ewer  enumerates  several  of  them  as  follows :  "  That 
reality  is  unitary  and  divine ;  that  ordinary  experience  is  merely 
phenomenal,  its  content  only  imperfectly  known;  that  its  limi- 
tations and  contradictions  are  transcended  in  true  knowledge; 
that  in  such  knowledge  the  soul,  which  is  the  key  to  reality,  rises 
to  identity  with  God  and  infinite  vision ;  that  the  Divine  Pres- 
ence may  be  found  hidden  in  the  midst  of  daily  life;  that  the 
real  is  ultimately  good,  and  sin  only  negative,  a  privation,  un- 
real." ^"^  The  list  of  "  truths  "  which  the  mystics  would  teach 
us  as  a  result  of  their  insight  might  be  made  still  longer. ^^ 

We  must,  however,  be  careful  to  distinguish  between  the  con-  ~^ 
tent  of  the  intuition  which  takes  place  during  the  ecstasy,  and    ' 
the  truths  which  the  mystic  comes  to  believe  as  a  result  of  re- 
flecting upon  his  experience.     By  later  reflection  and  interpre- 
tation he  may  arrive  at  any  number  of  conclusions ;  but  he  does     I 

25  These  three  (and  several  other  citations  like  them)  are  quoted  by 
Poulain,  op.  cit.,  pp.  271-73. 

26  "  The  Varieties  of  Religious  Experience,"  p.  416. 

27  Op.  cit.,  p.  576. 

28  An  interesting  example  not  indeed  of  new  ideas  but  of  new  convic- 
tion gained  through  the  mystic  experience  is  furnished  by  the  contem- 
porary mystic  of  whom  Professor  Flournoy  has  given  us  an  account.  Her 
idea  of  God,  prior  to  her  mystical  experiences,  had  always  been  extremely 
personal,  identified  usually  with  Christ,  and  possessing  little  of  the  cosmic. 
She  had  but  little  of  the  common  mystic  view  of  the  identity  of  God  and 
the  soul, —  the  relation  to  her  had  been  a  personal  and  external  one. 
Her  ecstasies  changed  all  this.  She  writes :  "  La  notion  du  aivin  que 
me  fait  entrevoir  cette  Experience  divine  depassc  en  grandeur  et  en  im- 
mediatet^  tout  ce  que  j'ai  pu  imaginer  jusqu'a  ft  present.  C'est  un  Dieu 
qui  m'enveloppe  et  me  souleve,  m'illumine  et  me  purifie,  mais  me  brise 
aussi,  et  n'entre  en  contact  avec  moi  qu'au  prix  de  ce  '  Ifichez  tout '  dc  nia 
conscience  de  moi-meme."  ("Une  [Mystique  Moderne/'  p.  77.  See  also 
pp.  87  and  134.)  Prof.  Flournoy  summarizes  the  conception  of  God  re- 
sulting from  her  ecstatic  experiences  under  three  heads  — '*  incomparable 
mystery,"  "necessary  being,"  "vital  energy"    (pp.   184-85). 


408  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

not  do  this  as  mystic.  It  is  not  by  his  processes  of  thought  that 
he  diilcrs  from  the  non-mystical  person ;  hence  the  conclusions 
he  comes  to  in  this  manner  are  not  themselves  mystic  and 
should  not  be  confused  with  the  truly  mystic  intuition  experi- 
L.enced  during  the  ecstasy.  .,  And  if  I  am  not  greatly  mistaken, 
a  large  number  of  the  "  mystic  truths  '^  so  called  —  as,  for  in- 
stance, several  of  those  quoted  above  from  Dr.  Ewer  —  are 
due  to  secondary  reflection  rather  than  to  immediate  intuition. 
In  fact  many  of  the  descriptions  given  by  the  mystics  them- 
selves would  seem  to  point  in  this  direction.  For  on  returning 
from  that  ecstatic  condition  where  the  greatest  amount  of 
truth  is  seen,  the  mystic  seems  least  able  to  bring  with  him  any 
of  these  truths  to  the  liirht  of  common  dav.  Thus  St.  Francis 
Xavier  finishes  the  description  of  his  vision  of  all  knowledge, 
from  which  I  recently  quoted,  as  follows:  "  This  state  of  in- 
tuition lasted  about  twenty-four  hours ;  then,  as  if  the  veil 
had  fallen  again,  I  found  myself  as  ignorant  as  before."  In 
like  manner  it  is  related  of  Herman  Joseph :  "  Suddenly  God 
enlarged  the  field  of  his  insight ;  He  showed  him  the  firmament 
and  the  stars  and  made  him  understand  their  quality  and  quan- 
tity, or  to  speak  more  clearly,  their  beauty  and  immensity. 
When  he  returned  to  himself  he  was  not  able  to  explain  any- 
thing to  us;  he  said  simply  that  this  knowledge  of  creation  had 
been  so  perfect  and  so  intoxicating  that  no  tongue  could  ex- 
press it."  ^®  This  seems  to  have  been  rather  disappointing  to 
his  expectant  friends ;  and  indeed  it  is  surprising  that  if  the 
mystics  have  the  revelations  of  which  they  write  they  should  be 
unable  to  communicate  them  —  or  apparently  even  to  remember 
them  —  on  their  return  to  this  world.  Poulain,  who  admits 
the  fact,  would  explain  it  by  the  nature  of  the  truths  thus  re- 
vealed. All  the  ecstatics,  he  says,  afiirm  that  during  the  stage 
known  as  "  ravishment "  one  experiences  a  widening  of  the  in- 

29  Cited  by  Poulain,  op.  cit.,  p.  272,  St.  Teresa  had  repeated  experiences 
of  this  kind.  Thus  she  writes  at  one  time,  "  II  m'cst  arrive?,  et  il  m'arrive 
encore  quelquefois,  que  Notre  Seigneur  me  d^couvre  de  plus  grands  secrets. 
.  .  .  Le  moindre  de  ces  secrets  suflit  pour  ravir  I'Ame  d'admiration.  .  .  . 
Je  voudrais  pouvoir  donner  une  id^e  de  ce  qui  m'etait  alors  d^couvert  de 
moins  6lev€;  mais  en  cherchant  ^  y  parvenir,  je  trouve  que  c'est  im- 
possible." ("Vie,"  p.  482.)  In  similar  vein  Eamakrishna  testifies  to 
the  impossibility  of  putting  into  words  the  knowledge  of  Brahman  at- 
tained in  Samadhi   ("Gospel  of  Ramakrishna,"  pp.  106-09). 


THE  ECSTASY  409 

telligence.  "  ISToble  scenes,  profound  ideas  are  offered  to  their 
spirits.  But  they  are  unable  to  explain  what  they  have  seen. 
This  results  not  from  any  lethargy  of  their  intelligence,  but 
because  they  have  been  elevated  to  the  vision  of  truths  that 
the  human  spirit  cannot  attain  to,  and  for  which  they  have  no 
terms.  Will  you  ask  a  mathematician  to  express  the  profun- 
dities of  the  infinitessimal  calculus  with  the  vocabulary  of  a 
child  ?  '^  ^^  With  all  the  good  will  in  the  world  for  the  Church's 
view  of  Mysticism,  and  in  spite  of  the  deep  respect  I  feel  for 
Father  Poulain's  usual  insight,  I  cannot  take  his  explanation 
very  seriously.  His  own  citations,  in  fact,  confute  him.  For, 
according  to  the  expressions  of  the  mystics,  the  "  truths  of 
human  science  "  are  revealed  and  then  lost  quite  as  readily 
as  ''  divine  truths,"  and  the  descriptions  imply  quite  plainly 
that  it  is  usually  lack  of  memory  rather  than  lack  of  terms 
that  makes  it  impossible  for  the  mystic  to  communicate  to 
others  the  truths  revealed  to  him  in  his  ravishment. 

Leuba,  in  fact,  carries  his  criticism  of  the  mystic  revela- 
tion (based  on  much  the  same  grounds  as  those  taken  above)  to 
the  extent  of  asserting  that  there  is  really  no  "  revelation  "  at 
all,  no  apprehension  of  any  truths  in  the  ecstasy,  but  that  the  per- 
suasion of  the  mystic  that  he  has  had  a  revelation  is  wholly 
illusory  and  is  due  to  a  combination  of  the  four  following 
causes :  "  ( 1 )  The  feeling  of  intimacy  coming  from  the  bond 
of  love  and  from  the  disappearance  of  desires  opposed  to  the 
divine  will.  (2)  An  illusory  illumination  quite  common  in 
sleep,  due  to  the  exclusion  of  mental  oppositions  and  to  a  feel- 
ing of  ease  and  of  power.  (3)  Visual  hallucinations  and  es- 
pecially directing  auditory  hallucinations.  (4)  The  clearer 
apprehension  of  the  divine  will  on  coming  out  of  the  ecstasy.'^  ^^ 
The  second  of  these  is  perhaps  the  most  important,  and  is  based 
on  the  analogy  of  a  phenomenon  fairly  familiar  to  most  of  us. 
We  sometimes  awake  from  a  dream  feeling  that  in  it  we  have 
solved  some  difficult  problem,  but  alas  cannot  remember  the 
solution.  This,  says  Leuba,  is  due  to  the  fact  that  the  ob- 
jections and  contradictions  which  our  logical  waking  thought 

30  p.  253. 

31 "  Tendances  Religieuses  chez  les  Mystiques  Chretiens"  {Rev.  Phi- 
losophique,  LIV),  480. 


410  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

sees  have  disappeared  and  in  the  narrowed  field  of  conscious- 
ness there  remains  only  the  prohlem  with  a  sense  of  ease  and 
mental  mastery.  In  like  manner  the  mystic  in  the  narrowed 
field  of  the  ecstasy  has  present  only  the  name  of  some  theological 
doctrine,  such  as  the  Trinity,  freed  from  its  logical  difficulties, 
and  color-^^d  hy  a  sense  of  ease  and  power.  Returning  from  his 
"  intellectual  vision,"  he  is  convinced  that  he  has  in  it  perceived 
plainly  how  the  three  Persons  are  one  God,  etc.,  etc.,  although 
now  he  is  still  quite  as  unable  to  explain  it  as  before  his  revela- 
tion. 

An  additional  explanation  for  the  mystic's  sense  of  knowledge 
is  to  be  found  in  the  emotional  intensity  of  the  ecstasy.  An 
analysis  of  many  of  the  descriptions  given  by  the  mystics  makes 
it  probable  that  the  sentiment  of  conviction  with  a  minimum 
of  intellectual  content  often  plays  an  important  part  in  the  ex- 
perience. Thus  Prof.  Elournoy's  patient,  who  combines  a  re- 
markable mystical  experience  with  great  powers  of  self-analysis 
and  of  psychological  description,  writes  concerning  her  inability 
to  describe  the  new  insight  gained  in  ecstasy :  "  All  the  tradi- 
tional ideas  about  God  and  His  action  in  us  seem  to  me  now 
so  weak,  insufficient  and  limited.  And  yet  if  I  try  to  analyze 
what  I  know  of  God  in  addition  to  these  ideas,  I  find  nothing. 
I  could  weep  over  my  inability  to  describe  that  which  I  feel 
again  and  again.     The  content  is  at  a  minimum."  ^^ 

While  these  various  explanations  of  the  mystic's  conviction 
of  insight  go  a  long  way,  I  do  not  think  they  show  his  sense  of 
revelation  to  be  entirely  illusory.  In  the  first  place,  the  mys- 
tics are  by  no  means  always  unable  to  communicate  the  truths 
which  they  have  intuitively  perceived  during  their  ecstasy,  al- 
though it  must  be  noted  that  the  ''  revealed  "  truths  which  they 
can  communicate  are  always  old  truths  which  they  knew  (though 
in  a  much  less  living  form)  before.  Most  of  us  have  experi- 
enced at  rare  intervals  those  unique  moments  of  insight  when 
we  seem  to  see  into  the  totality  of  things  with  a  strange  fresh- 
ness and  clearness.^^  These  moments  indeed  bring  us  no  new 
ideas,  they  discover  to  us  no  new  facts  (unless  it  be  this  fact 
about  ourselves),  but  they  seem  to  give  us  a  sense  for  the  whole, 

32  "  La  mati&re  y  tient  le  minimum  de  place  " — "  Une  Mystique  Mod- 
erne,"  p.  72. 

88  Compare  the  oft-quoted  lines  from  Wordsworth's  "  Tintem  Abbey  " : 


THE  ECSTASY  411 

and  to  throw  around  the  old  truths  a  new  light  that  makes  them 
living  and  vital  to  us  as  they  never  were  before.  It  is  a  new 
union  of  idea  with  emotion,  which  gives  the  former  a  burning 
life  and  a  moving  power  it  never  before  possessed.  This  ex- 
perience which  manv  of  us  share  at  times,  intensified  to  a  very 
considerable  degree,  makes  up  probably  a  large  part  of  the 
mystic's  revelation.  And  many  of  the  "  mystic  truths,"  such 
as  those  quoted  from  Ewer,  are  doubtless  in  this  fashion  the 
object  of  the  mystic  intuition. ^^ 

It  would,  however,  as  we  have  seen,  be  a  mistake  to  regard  all 
of  the  "  truths  "  referred  to  as  essential  deliverances  of  the 
mystic  consciousness  as  such.  While  many  of  the  Christian 
mystics  agree  on  most  of  the  religious  or  philosophical  positions 
which  I  have  named  and  may  even  regard  them  as  genuine  mys- 
tical revelations,  there  is  only  one  of  them  which  is  really  es- 
sential to  mysticism  as  such  and  a  genuinely  universal  asser- 

"  that  serene  and  blessed  mood 
In  which  the  affections  gently  lead  us  on 
Until,  the  breath  of  this  corporeal  frame 
And  even  the  motion  of  our  human  blood 
Almost  suspended,  we  are  laid  asleep 
In  body,  and  become  a  living  soul ; 
While  with  an  eye  made  quiet  by  the  power 
Of  harmony,  and  the  deep  power  of  joy, 
We  see  into  the  life  of  things." 

34  St.  Teresa  furnishes  a  rather  illuminating  example  of  this.  In  the 
course  of  an  ecstasy  she  heard  the  words  "  Tous  les  malheurs  qui  arrivent 
dans  le  monde  viennent  de  ce  que  Ton  n'y  connait  pas  clairement  les 
v6rit68  de  I'Ecriture."  To  this  she  made  very  frank  reply  (apparently 
in  the  ecstasy  itself)  that  both  she  and  all  the  faithful  had  always  be- 
lieved this.  Whereupon  the  voice  replied :  "  Sais-tu  ce  que  c'est  de 
m'aimer  veritablement?  C'est  de  bien  comprendre  que  tout  ce  qui  ne  m'est 
pas  agreable  n'est  que  mensonge."  This  thought,  surely  not  really  new  to  a 
mystic  like  St.  Teresa,  immediately  surrounded  itself  with  such  an  emo- 
tional tinge  that  it  seemed  to  her  a  great  discovery,  and  one  which  she 
describes  as  "  une  verite  qui  est  la  plenitude  de  toutes  les  v^rites." 
("Vie,"  pp.  519-20.)  At  another  time  she  writes,  "  Sortant  de  cette  orai- 
son,  et  me  preparant  h  6crire  sur  ce  sujet,  je  cherchais  dans  ma  pens^e  ce 
que  I'ame  pouvait  faire  pendant  ce  temps.  Notre  Seigneur  me  dit  ces 
paroles:  *  Elle  se  perd  tout  entiere,  ma  fille,  pour  entrer  plus  entimement 
en  moi.  .  .  .'  Ceux  que  Dieu  a  6lev6s  a  cet  6tat  auront  quelque  intelli- 
gence de  ce  langage;  ce  qui  se  passo  alors  est  si  cache  qu'on  ne  saurait  en 
parler  plus  clairment.  J'ajoutcrai  seulement  ceci ;  Tame  se  voit  alors 
pres  de  Dieu,  et  il  lui  en  reste  une  certitude  si  ferme,  qu'elle  ne  peut  con- 
cevoir  le  moindre  doute  sur  la  v6rit6  d'une  telle  faveur  "   (p.  174). 


412  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

tion  of  mysticism  everywhere  and  always.  This  pronounce- 
ment is,  of  course,  the  constantly  reiterated  assertion  that 
in  the  mystic  experience  one  comes  into  immediate  touch  with 
the  Divine.  Possiblv  all  the  mvstical  "  revelations  '^  may  be 
accounted  for  as  being  first  carried  into  the  ecstasy  by  the  mys- 
tic, and  derived  originally  from  social  education,  and  all  ex- 
cept this  sense  of  presence  may  possibly  be  mere  conclusions 
which  the  mystic  comes  to  after  reflecting  upon  his  experience 
by  a  process  of  ordinary  discursive  thought ;  a  number  of  mys- 
tics will  be  found  to  admit  this  in  the  case  of  each  of  these  sub- 
sidiary and  accessory  deliverances.  The  "  immediate  knowl- 
edge of  God's  presence,"  on  the  other  hand,  is  the  one  thing 
which  the  mystics  universally  consider  directly  experienced  in  a 
peculiar  way  during  the  ecstatic  condition. ^^ 

If  the  mystic  experience,  then,  is  really  cognitive  this  is 
what  it  "  knows."  This  I  say,  let  me  repeat,  from  a  psycho- 
logical not  an  epistemological  point  of  view.  The  mystic's  con- 
sciousness, so  far  as  it  is  something  more  than  merely  emotional, 
is  an  intuition  of  the  "  Beyond."  After  our  study  in  Chapter 
XVI  of  the  sense  of  the  Beyond  in  the  less  intense  forms  of 

ft- 

mysticism  a  few  more  examples  of  it,  in  the  ecstatics,  will  suffice 
to  put  before  the  reader's  mind  the  testimony  of  the  mystics 
upon  this  point.  Says  Gerson :  "  It  must  be  explained  how 
one  experiences  this  union  (with  God).  We  may  say  that  this 
experimental  union  is  a  simple  and  actual  perception  of  God." 
Antoine  du  Saint-Esprit  writes  thus :  ^^  God  manifests  Himself 
to  pure  spirits  in  such  a  way  that  they  perceive  and  enjoy  im- 
mediately and  experimentally  this  presence  by  the  knowledge 
and  embracements  of  love."  Father  Ma^Tiard :  "  The  union 
is  a  living  and  profound  sense  of  God  present  within  us.  ,  .  . 
The  soul  know^s  that  God  is  there,  and  knows  it  by  its  sweet 
experience."  ^®  St.  Teresa:  "  God  establishes  Himself  within 
one's  soul  in  such  a  manner  that  when  the  soul  returns  to  her- 
self it  is  impossible  to  doubt  that  God  has  been  in  her  and 
she  in  Him.     And  this  certainty  remains  so  firmly  imprinted 

35  This  universality  of  the  mystic's  testimony  must  not  be  taken  as 
necessarily  possessing  metaphysical  significance.  It  is,  however,  a  striking 
fact. 

3b  These  citations  I  have  quoted  from  Poulain's  excellent  collection.  See 
pp.  74-86  and  98-109,  op.  cit. 


THE  ECSTASY  413 

on  one's  mind  that  if  one  should  go  for  many  years  without 
being  raised  again  to  this  condition,  one  could  neither  forget 
the  favor  that  has  been  received  nor  doubt  of  its  reality."  ^"^ 

The  analysis  given  in  Chapter  XVI  of  the  sense  of  presence 
as  found  in  the  milder  form  of  mysticism  seems  plainly  to  hold 
of  the  more  extreme  cases  as  well,  if  we  bear  in  mind  the  fact 
that  the  experience  is  here  accompanied  with  much  more  intense 
emotion.  It  is  not  surprising,  therefore,  that  the  great  mystics 
vehemently  insist  that  their  sense  of  God's  presence  is  unique 
and  ineffable.  This  conviction,  when  combined  (as  it  is  in 
certain  schools  of  mystic  theology)  with  a  negative  conception 
of  the  Deity  as  ultimately  indescribable,  may  lead  the  mystic 
down  the  "^  via  negativa/'  A  negative  conception  of  God,  such 
as  that  found  in  Dionysius  and  some  of  the  Upanishads,  and  the 
steady  narrowing  of  the  field  of  consciousness  induced  by  the 
ecstasv  and  trance  mutuallv  reinforce  each  other  and  add  their 
influence  in  persuading  the  mystic  that  he  has  become  one  with 
the  Infinite  Blank. 

The  negative  way  of  defining  God  is  based  upon  the  prin- 
ciple that  no  quality  known  in  human  experience  can  worthily 
be  attributed  to  Him.  As  say  the  Upanishads,  He  can  be 
described  only  by  '^  Neti,  ^N'eti,"  —  or  "  'No,  No."  Even  the 
highest  attributes  we  men  can  picture  are  unworthy  of  Him  and 
incompatible  with  His  (or  Its)  absolute  unity.  Thus  accord- 
ing to  Plotinus  neither  purpose  nor  thought  nor  self-conscious- 
ness can  be  ascribed  to  the  One.  For  purpose  of  course  im- 
plies want,  and  "  everything  which  wants  stands  in  need  of 
well-being  and  preservation.  It  follows  that  for  the  One, 
nothing  can  be  good,  nor  can  it  wish  anything.  It  is  rather 
super-good,  a  good  not  for  itself  but  for  other  things.  Nor 
can  the  One  be  thinking,  lest  there  be  difference  and  motion 
in  it.  It  is  prior  to  motion  and  to  thinking.  For  what  shall 
it  think  ?  Itself  ?  In  that  case,  before  it  thinks  it  will  be  ig- 
norant, and  what  is  self-sufficient  will  need  thought  in  order 
to  know  itself.  .  .  .  The  Only  One  will  neither  know  any- 
thing nor  have  anything  to  be  ignorant  of.  Being  One  and 
united  with  itself  it  does  not  need  to  think  of  itself.  You  can- 
not catch  a  glimpse  of  it  even  by  ascribing  to  it  union  with  it- 

37  "  Chateau  Interieur,"  CEuvres,  Vol.  Ill,  p.  459. 


f; 


414  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

self.  Rather  joii  must  take  away  thinking  and  the  act  of 
being  united  and  thought  of  itself  and  of  everything  else."  " 

In  like  manner  the  mystic's  scorn  of  conceptual  knowledge 
and  discursive  thought  sometimes  leads  him  (especially  if  he 
hold  the  negative  view  of  God  just  described)  to  insist  that 
emptiness  of  mind  is  the  only  road  toward  union  with  the  "  Di- 
vine Gloom."  "  It  is  during  the  cessation  of  every  mental 
energy,"  says  Dionysius,  "  that  such  a  union  of  the  deified 
minds  toward  the  superdivine  light  takes  place."  ^®  "  The  Di- 
vine Gloom  is  the  unapproachable  light  in  which  God  is  said 
to  dwell.  And  into  this  gloom,  invisible  indeed  on  account  of 
surpassing  brightness,  and  unapproachable  on  account  of  the 
excess  of  the  superessential  stream  of  light,  enters  every  one 
deemed  worthy  to  know  and  to  see  God,  by  the  very  fact  of 
neither  seeing  nor  knowing,  really  entering  into  Him  who  is 
above  vision  and  knowledge."  *^/  "  The  emptier  your  mind," 
says  Meister  Eckhart,  "  the  more  susceptible  are  you  to  the 
working  of  His  influence."  ''  Memory,  understanding,  will, 
all  tend  toward  diversity  and  multiplicity  of  thought,  there- 
fore you  must  leave  them  all  aside,  as  well  as  perception,  idea- 
tion, and  everything  in  which  you  find  yourself  or  seek  your- 
self. Only  then  can  you  experience  this  new  birth, —  other- 
wise never."  ^^ 

The  logical  result  of  this  conception  of  God  and  of  this  view 
as  to  the  means  of  communing  with  Him  would  be,  if  carried  to 
the  extreme,  the  deliberate  and  systematic  attempt  to  "  sim- 
plify "  one's  conscious  field  till  nothing  should  be  left.  Murisier, 
who  regards  this  "simplification  "  as  the  typical  mysticism,  has 
described  it  so  well  that  he  has  almost  succeeded  in  getting  his 
description  accepted  by  some  psychologists  as  the  norm  of  all 
mystic  phenomena.^^     The  mystic  seeks  simplification  of  the 

38  Enneads,  VI.  Bakewell's  Source  Book,  p.  370.  Cf.  also  Lao-tze's  fa- 
mous sentence :  "  The  reason  that  can  be  reasoned  is  not  the  Eternal 
Reason;  the  name  that  can  be  named  is  not  the  Eternal  Name."  (Tao 
Teh  King,  1.) 

39"  Divine  Xames  "  (Parker's  translation),  p.  8. 

40  "  Letter  to  Dorotheus,"  p.  144. 

*i  Meister  Eckhart's  "  Mystische  Schriften "  put  into  modem  German 
by  Landaur   (Berlin,  Schnabel:   1903),  pp.  20,  23. 

*2  His  description  holds  properly  only  of  the  quietist,  a  type  of  mystic 
recently   studied   by   Ribot    ("L'ld^al    Quietiste,"   Rev.   Philosophique  for 


THE  ECSTASY  415 

heterogeneous  elements  of  his  mind  and  life  by  a  process  of 
elimination.  This  is  Murisier's  formula  for  the  whole  process 
from  beginning  to  end,  and  certainly  it  is  extremely  illuminating 
and  useful  in  aiding  us  to  understand  many  of  the  phenomena 
involved,  i  Asceticism  the  mystic  has  used  only  as  a  tool  forA 
lopping  off  the  rougher  outer  elements  of  diversity  and  sources  ' 
of  distraction;  and  the  processes  of  meditation  and  contempla- 
tion are  for  the  purpose  of  reducing  the  mind  itself  to  unity. 
One  idea  after  another  is  done  away  with,  the  rapidity  of 
thought  is  stopped,  and  gradually  the  mystic  approximates  a 
condition  of  monoideism  where  one  idea  alone  remains  with  .^ 
its  accompanying  feeling  tone,  dominating  the  mind.  -"  This 
is  sometimes  an  abstract  idea,  analogous  to  the  idea  of  the 
Good,  or  to  the  law  of  the  ^  cause  of  sorrow/  knowledge  of 
which  conducts  the  Buddhist  to  the  repose  of  Nirvana.  It 
is  more  frequently  a  vague  and  confused  image  drawn  from 
former  representations,  or  rather  it  is  the  residue  of  these  repre- 
sentations after  they  have  been  impoverished  and  simplified  by 
the  gradual  effacement  of  their  differences  and  their  con- 
tours. .  .  .  Sometimes  visions  still  remain  but  if  so  thev  are 
visions  without  images,  sudden  illuminations  of  the  soul  which 
at  last  comprehends  how  all  things  are  in  God.  Monoideism, 
the  absence  of  simultaneity  and  of  succession,  is  incompatible 
with  the  ordinary  notions  of  space  and  time.  •  ^  To  know '  in  ) 
this  manner  is  therefore  to  free  oneself  from  extension  and 
duration,  to  prolong  the  perception  of  the  present  beyond  every 
assignable  limit,  to  enjoy  an  ^  eternal  now,'  to  lose  oneself  in 
an  immensity  without  bounds,  in  a  word,  to  become  identical  ) 
with  God.''  ^3  -^ 

This  phenomenon  of  monoideism,  let  me  repeat,  is  a  height 
of  supernatural  power,  or  a  depth  of  pathological  weakness  (as 
you  choose),  to  which  not  many  mystics  attain.  The  ecstasy  is 
usually  terminated  before  this  stage  is  reached.  But  we  are 
here  considering  the  extreme  cases  and  Murisier's  description  is 
probably  excellent  for  them. 

1915,   pp.   440-54).     Ribot's   treatment   is   not    essentially    different    from 
Murisier's;  the  quietist  he  describes  as  a  mystic  in  whom  the  instinct  of 
self-preservation  is  inverted,  so  that  he  seeks  the  destruction  of  the  self. 
4S"Les  Maladies  du  Sentiment   Religieux,"  pp.   61-62. 


416  TTTE  KELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

Wliilr  ideation  has  born  docreasing,  emotion  (at  least  in  its 
relative  proportion)  has  been  increasing;  and  in  fact  through- 
out the  ecstasy  the  emotional  element  ])redominates  and  is  of  an 
intensity  which  seems  far  to  exceed  that  of  any  emotion  known 
^to  the  mvstic  in  anv  other  condition./  Mme.  Guvon  exclaims : 
"  O  my  God,  if  thou  wouldst  make  the  most  sensual  persons 
feel  wliat  I  feel  they  would  quickly  quit  their  false  pleasures 
to  enjoy  so  true  a  joy."  '*'* 

This  ecstatic  joy  is  the  joy  of  love  in  the  realization  of  the 
unity  of  the  soul  with  its  "  Well  Beloved."  "  It  is,"  says 
Therese  Couderc,  "  a  sweet  feeling  of  the  presence  of  God  and 
of  His  love,  which  gives  the  soul  so  great  delight  and  so  unites 
it  with  Him,  that  it  can  scarcely  be  distracted.  .  .  .  All  other 
pleasure  beside  that  of  enjoying  God  seems  to  me  insipid."  *^ 
In  like  manner  Richard  of  St.  Victor  says  of  this  joy,  ''  It  is 
so  great  that  no  natural  delight  can  be  compared  to  it,  and  it 
fills  the  soul  with  disgust  for  all  the  external  sweets  of  pleasure 
and  vanity."  ^*  And  the  other  Victorine,  Huijo,  describes  the 
ecstatic  experience  as  follows :  ^'  What  is  this  sweet  thing 
which  at  the  thought  of  God  sometimes  comes  and  touches  me  ? 
It  affects  me  so  keenly  and  with  such  sweetness  that  I  begin  to 
be  separated  from  myself  and  to  be  carried  I  know  not  where. 
Suddenly  I  feel  myself  transformed  and  changed ;  it  is  joy  un- 

♦*  Quoted  by  Leuba,  "  Tendances  Fondamentales  des  Mystiques  Chre- 
tiens"  {Rev/ Phil,  LIV,  1-36),  p.  6.  The  descriptions  of  the  ecstatic 
joy  given  by  one  of  Janet's  patients  are  particularly  good:  "  J'ai  ressenti 
comme  une  joie  int<^rieure  qui  s'est  repandue  jusque  dans  tout  mon  corps 
.  .  .  I'air  que  je  respire,  la  vue  du  ciel,  le  chant  des  oiseaux,  tout  m'a 
caus6  des  jouissances  inexprimables,  j'ai  v\i  des  beautes  inaccoutura^es, 
en  raarchant  je  me  suis  sentie  soutenue  et  j'ai  ^prouv^  dans  I'air  veritable 
volupt^.  .  .  .  J'ai  des  jouissances  que,  en  dehors  de  Dieu,  il  est  impos- 
sible de  connnitre.  ...  La  torre  devient  vraiment  pour  moi  le  vestibule 
du  ciel,  mon  coeur  jouit  il  I'avance  de  la  f6licit6  qui  lui  est  r^serv^,  .  .  . 
mes  impressions  sont  trop  violentes  et  j'ai  de  la  peine  a  comprimer  mea 
transports  de  bonheur."     Bulletin  de  I'lnstitut  Psychologique,  I,  229-30. 

«  Cited  by  Poulain,  p.  79. 

46Quoted'by  Ribet  (Vol.  I,  p.  132)  from  the  Benjamin  Major,  18.  In 
another  passage  Richard  compares  the  delight  to  that  of  a  maiden  suddenly 
overcome  with  wine  and  not  knowing  its  nature:  "  Cogitemus  modo  puel- 
1am  quandam  teneram  et  delicatam,  utpote  in  multa  deliciarum  affluentia 
educatam,  sed  in  multo  vino  jam  madidam,  utpote  in  cellam  vinariam 
introductam  et  torrente  voluptatis  potatam,  et  quasi  prae  nimia  teneri- 
tudine  vix  posse  incedere,  et  prae  nimia  ebrietate  viam  quam  tenere  de- 
beat  nullo  modo  posse  discernere." 


THE  ECSTASY  417 

speakable.  My  mind  is  exhilarated,  I  lose  the  memory  of  my 
past  trials,  my  heart  is  inflamed,  my  intelligence  clarified,  my 
desires  satisfied.  I  feel  myself  transported  into  a  new  place, 
I  know  not  where.  I  grasp  something  inwardly  as  with  the 
embracements  of  love.  ...  I  struggle  deliciously  not  to  lose 
this  thing  which  I  desire  to  embrace  without  end."  ^^ 

The  reader  will  probably  have  noticed  the  emphasis  which 
Hugo  of  St.  Victor,  in  this  last  quotation,  puts  upon  "  emhrace- 
ments/'  In  this  his  language  is  very  typical.  The  writings 
of  the  Christian  mystics  in  description  of  the  joy  of  ecstasy  are 
teeming  with  expressions  drawn  from  human  love.  As  Leuba 
has  put  it : 

"  Whoever  has  read  the  mystics  must  have  been  struck  and 
perhaps  scandalized  by  the  erotic  character  of  their  language 
and  of  their  images.  .  .  .  The  commerce  of  God  with  man  is 
by  the  mystics  put  entirely  in  terms  of  profane  love.  The  terms 
'  Lover '  and  ^  Spouse  '  designate  by  turn  Jesus  Christ  and 
sometimes  God  who  is  often  confused  with  His  Son.  The 
Virgin  is  '  the  incomparable  Love,'  ^  the  daughter  of  delight,' 
^  the  unique  dove.'  In  the  course  of  one  page  Ruysbroeck  ac- 
cumulates the  following  terms :  ^  amorous  embracements,'  '  bonds 
of  love,'  '  ecstatic  beatitude,'  ^  amorous  immersion.'  "  ^^ 

Expressions  like  these  could  be  quoted  from  a  large  number 
of   the   ecstatics.'*^     As   Leuba   says,   the   effect   is   sometimes 

*7  Cited  by  Poulain,  p.  105.  For  similar  expressions  from  Ruysbroeck 
see  Hebert,  "  Le  Divin,"  pp.  17-18. 

*8  "  Tendances  Religieuses  chez  les  Mystiques  Chretiens,"  p.  459.  Cf.  also 
the  following  passage  from  this  article  of  Leuba's:  "  Saint  Therese  goUtait 
habituellement  d'enivrantes  delices  dans  la  compagnie  de  son  Seigneur. 
Tous  les  plaisirs  de  la  terre  palissaient  devant  ceux-la;  ils  n'6taient  plus 
que  de  la  fange.  Voici  un  passage  tout  k  fait  frappant  dont  nous  tire- 
rons  instruction  tout  a  I'heure,  en  discutant  la  possibility  de  I'origine 
sexuelle  d'une  des  jouissances  qu'ils  disent  *  spirituelles.'  Elle  avait  par- 
fois  des  visiteurs  ang^liques.  Un  jour  elle  vit  un  tros  petit  et  tr&s  bel 
ange.  It  avait  dans  les  mains  '  un  long  dard  qui  ^tait  d'or  et  dont  la 
pointe  en  fer  avait  ^  I'extr^mit^  un  peu  de  feu.  De  temps  en  temps  il  le 
plongeait  au  travers  de  mon  coeur  et  I'enforgait  jusqu'aux  entrailles;  en 
le  retirant,  il  semblait  me  les  cmporter  avee  ce  dard  et  me  laissait  tout 
embras^e  d'amour  de  Dieu.  La  douleur  de  cette  blessure  6tait  si  vive, 
qu'elle  m'arrachait  ces  faibles  soupirs  .  .  .  mais  cet  indicible  martyre  me 
faisait  goflter  on  meme  temps  les  plus  sunves  d^licps."  For  a  full  discus- 
sion of  the  subject  one  should  read  all  of  Leuba's  article  and  the  paper  by 
de  Montmorand  cited  below.     See  also  Hebert's  "  Le  Divin,"  pp.  17-24. 

*9  Xor  are  they  by  any  means  confined  to  the  ecstatics.     So  non-ecstatic 


418  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

startling.  One  should  not,  however,  make  too  much  of  it  — 
on  second  thought  many  of  these  expressions  cease  to  be  sur- 
prising and  seem  natural  enough.  For  there  are  several  excel- 
lent reasons  why  the  mystics  almost  inevitably  make  use  of 
the  language  of  human  love  in  describing  the  joy  of  the  love 
of  God.  The  first  and  simplest  is  this:  that  they  have  no  other 
language  to  use.*^^     The  emotion  of  the  ecstasy  is  before  all 

r^  else  a  burning  love  for  God  and  a  joyous  consciousness  of  this 
loving  presence.  It  is  evident  then  that  the  mystic  must  make 
use  of  expressions  drawn  from  earthly  love  to  describe  his  ex- 
perience, or  give  up  the  attempt  of  describing  it  at  all.  It  is 
the  only  way  he  has  of  even  suggesting  to  the  non-mystical  what 

1^  he  has  felt.  Even  Plotinus  —  who  blushed  at  the  thought  of 
having  a  body  —  says :  "  Those  to  whom  this  heavenly  love  is 
unknown  may  get  some  conception  of  it  from  earthly  love,  and 
what  joy  it  is  to  obtain  possession  of  what  one  loves  most."  '^ 

/  A  special  reason  for  the  amorous  language  of  the  mediaeval 
Christian  mvstics  is  to  be  found  in  the  nature  of  the  book  which 

l^thev  constantly  used  as  their  model,  the  Song  of  Songs.*^^  This 
book  which  is  really  a  naive  and  straightforward  glorification 
of  natural  and  proper  sexual  love,  was  regarded  by  the  Christian 
Fathers  from  Origen  do^Ti  as  having  really  nothing  to  do  with 
sex,  but  as  s^Tnbolic  of  the  love  between  Christ  and  the  Church, 
or  between  God  and  the  soul.  Here  then,  the  mystics  thought, 
was  a  divinely  inspired  treatment  of  exactly  the  experience 
which  they  themselves  so  prized.  Hence  it  was  their  favorite 
book  and  its  language  inevitably  influenced  their  own. 

Much  of  the  amorous  language  of  the  mystics  must  undoubt- 
edly be  explained  as  due  to  one  or  both  of  these  two  causes. 
But  when  all  is  said  there  remains  a  good  deal  that  is  not  yet  ex- 
plained ;  and  we  can  hardly  believe  that  so  much  erotic  language 
can  have  been  used  to  describe  experiences  which  in  themselves 

and  literary  a  mystic  as  Coventry  Patmore  uses  expressions  of  much  the 
same  sort  as  those  found  in  the  erotic  mystics  of  India.  See  "  The  Rod, 
the  Fruit,  and  the  Flower"  (London.  Bell:  1914),  pp.  106.  216;  and 
"  Religio  Poetae "  (1907),  especially  the  closing  essay,  "  Dieu  et  Ma 
Dame." 

50  Cf.  De  Montmorand,  "  L'Erotomanie  des  Mystiques  Chretiens."     Revue 
Philosophique,  LVI,  382-93. 

51  Bakewell's  "  Source  Book,"  p.  389. 

52  Cf.  again,  De  Montmorand,  op.  cit. 


THE  ECSTASY  419 

had  no  touch  of  anything  but  "  Platonic  "  love.  This  is  made 
the  more  evident  when  we  turn  from  Christian  to  Indian  mys- 
ticism, for  while  much  of  the  erotic  language  to  be  found  in 
India's  religious  literature  is  certainly  due  to  the  lack  of  any 
other  suitable  expression  for  so  intensely  an  emotional  ex- 
perience, the  mystical  and  the  sexual  life  of  many  Indian  de- 
votees are  frankly  recognized  as  being  closely  united.  The 
three  great  Sects  of  modem  Hinduism  —  Vaishnavas,  Shaivites, 
and  Shaktis  —  have  in  the  past  openly  encouraged  a  mingling 
of  the  erotic  and  the  mystical  which  seemed  to  the  worshipers  as 
natural  and  exalted  as  it  seems  to  us  strange  and  degraded.^^ 
There  is  no  reason  to  suppose  that  this  mingling  of  seemingly 
divergent  tendencies  is  confined  to  India.  The  various  pas- 
sages from  the  Christian  mystics  already  cited  can  hardly  be 
interpreted  without  recognizing  the  fact  that  here  too  the  sexual 
has  been  mingled  with  the  religious,  although  the  mystics  them- 
selves regularly  fail  to  realize  it.^^  The  more  sophisticated  but 
no  less  earnest  contemporary  Christian  mystic  investigated  by 
Professor  Flournoy  gives  plain  evidence  of  sexual  influences  in 
some  of  her  ecstasies.  These  to  be  sure  are  confined  to  the  parts 
of  the  experience  preceding  and  following  the  central  stage,  and 
they  are  rare  even  at  that ;  but  in  one  of  the  ecstasies  the  erotic 
forces  broke  out  into  such  open  self-assertion  as  to  be  undeniable, 
and  resulted  in  a  terrible  night  of  conflict.^  ^  Her  experience 
throws  light  on  that  of  many  a  Christian  saint,  and  Professor 
Leuba  is  probably  right  in  pointing  out  that  in  some  of  the  more 
extreme  Christian  cases  positive  sexual  delight  is  involved,  al- 
though the  mystic  himself  is  usually  quite  unaware  that  this  is 
so.     It  is  certainly  true  that  sexual  desires  and  sexual  pleasure 

63  The  ( innocent )  expression  of  divine  love  in  terms  of  human  love  is 
to  be  found  repeatedly  in  the  Bhagavad  Gita,  the  Puranas,  the  Tantras, 
and  in  much  popular  Shaivite  and  Vaishnavite  poetry.  Erotic  mystical 
practices  are  (or  at  least  icere)  not  uncommon  among  subjects  of  Vaish- 
navism  and  Shakti. 

5*  Not  invariably.  The  Fioretti  of  St.  Francis,  for  example,  informs 
us  that  friar  John  of  Alvernia  was  uplifted  "  to  amorous  and  immoderate 
embracings  of  Christ,  not  only  with  inward  spiritual  delights  but  also 
with  manifest  indications  and  corporeal  pleasures." 

55  See  pp.  81-82,  93-96,  189,  192.  It  should  be  added,  however,  that 
in  only  one  out  of  thirty-one  recorded  ecstasies  did  the  erotic  forces  be- 
come recognizable,  and  that  in  nearly  every  other  case  the  influence  of  the 
ecstasy  was  to  banish  all  sexual  ideas. 


420  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

of  a  mild  aiul  disefiiist'd  sort  permeate  most  of  our  life,  quite 
without  our  knowinp:  it.  All  our  emotions  have  some  "  bodily 
resonance  " ;  they  are  due  in  part  to  the  tension  or  relaxation  of 
some  muscles,  to  the  functioning  of  some  gland,  or  to  some 
other  physiological  activity.  The  various  joyous  emotions  have 
their  foundation  in  various  parts  of  the  body;  and  the  emotion 
of  intense  love,  even  in  its  purest  form  and  quite  divorced  from 
every  sexual  idea,  is  usually  connected  with  the  incipient  ex- 
citation of  the  sexual  organs.  This  seems  to  be  the  case  with 
the  intense  love  of  God  and  the  joy  in  his  love  felt  during 
ecstasy.  But  while  this  is  doubtless  true,  no  one  would  be  so 
surprised  to  hear  it  even  suggested  as  the  mystic  himself;  for 
so  far  as  his  mind  and  will  are  concerned  he  is  essentially  pure 
from  all  sensual  taint.  What  is  going  on  in  his  body  to  color 
his  emotions  is  of  no  interest  to  him,  though  it  is  of  interest 
to  us  as  psychologists.  Our  realization  of  this  fact,  therefore, 
must  not  be  allowed  to  influence  our  valuation  of  him  from  the 
moral  point  of  view. 

While  we  are  considering  the  emotional  side  of  ecstasy  we 
may  as  well  take  up  the  phenomenon  known  as  "  ravishment," 
for  though  it,  of  course,  includes  ideational  as  well  as  affective 
elements,  it  is  the  emotional  crisis  of  the  w^hole  process.  "  Rav- 
ishment "  is  usually  classed  by  the  systematizers  as  one  aspect 
of  the  third  stage  of  mystic  experience,  or  the  "  ecstatic 
union."  ^®  Its  particular  characteristics  that  differentiate  it 
from  the  rest  of  the  ecstasy  and  mark  it  out  for  special  consid- 
eration, are  its  intensity,  its  suddenness,  and  the  peculiar  ex- 
perience often  connected  with  it  known  as  "  levitation."  It 
comes  upon  the  mystic  with  a  great  rush  of  emotion  and  (ap- 
parently) some  inner  bodily  change,  so  that  it  often  causes  sud- 
den fear  and  overcomes  all  resistance.  The  outer  world  is  more 
completely  shut  out  than  ever.  ^'  The  body  retains  the  atti- 
tude in  which  it  was  surprised ;  thus  it  remains  on  its  feet  or 
seated,  the  hands  open,  or  closed ;  in  a  word,  in  the  condition  in 
which  the  ravishment  found  it."  °^     The  mystic  can  sometimes 

56  St.  Teresa,  on  the  other  hand,  insists  (in  Chapter  XX  of  the  "Vie") 
that  she  recognizes  no  difference  between  "  ravissement "  and  "  extase." 
She  distinguishes  sharply,  however,  between  "  ravissement  "  and  "  union." 
(Cf.  p.  190  of  the  "Vie.") 

57  St.    Teresa,    Vie,    Chapter    XX.     Janet's    ecstatic    in    the    Salpetriere 
often  exhibited  this  immobility  during  her  attacks. 


THE  ECSTASY  421 

neither  speak  nor  move.  The  attack,  if  so  we  may  call  it,  may 
interrupt  the  course  of  one's  thought  or  conversation  like  a 
fainting  fit  and  after  it  is  over  the  broken  thought  or  sentence 
may  be  taken  up  where  it  was  left.^^  It  is  usually  of  short 
duration  —  a  few  minutes  or  seconds  only,  but  may  last  an 
hour  or  more.^^ 

In  connection  with  ravishment,  as  I  have  said,  frequently 
comes  the  phenomenon  of  levitation.  This  is  due  to  the  sen- 
sational disturbances  already  referred  to  in  ravishment.  For 
not  only  sight  and  hearing  but  also  the  more  fundamental  and 
less  easily  inhibited  sensation  of  pressure,  together  with  muscle 
and  joint  sensations,  apparently  are  to  some  extent  deranged, 
parts  of  the  body  becoming  anaesthetic.  Visual  imagery,  fairly 
vivid  yet  not  due  to  present  sensory  stimuli  and  therefore  sug- 
gesting a  new  situation  in  space,  may  also  at  times  have  some 
influence.  According  to  Lydiard  H.  Horton,  who  has  investi- 
gated the  phenomenon  in  a  number  of  subjects  in  the  process 
of  inducing  sleep,  the  most  important  cause  is  to  be  sought 
in  the  vaso-motor  relaxation  which  is  brought  about  by  the 
approach  of  sleep,  by  "  aesthetic  repose,'^  religious  concentration, 
and  other  forms  of  relaxation. ^*^  The  result  is  that  the  ecstatic 
either  gets  a  new  combination  of  sensations,  or  else  gets  almost 
none  at  all.  In  the  former  case  he  sometimes  feels  that  his 
body  has  been  lifted  from  the  ground  and  is  suspended  freely 
in  the  air;  in  the  latter  case  he  may  feel  freed  from  his  body 
altogether.  "  My  body  became  so  light  during  ravishment," 
says  St.  Teresa,  "  that  it  no  longer  had  any  weight,  so  that  in 
fact  sometimes  I  could  not  feel  my  feet  touch  the  ground."  ^^ 
It  is  interesting  to  compare  with  this  the  description  of  much 
the  same  phenomenon  experienced  by  one  of  my  respondents 
during  prayer :  ^'  It  is  a  sing-ular  feeling  or  sensation  which 
comes  to  me  when  I  pray,  that  while  I  pray  I  feel  my  body 

58  Poulain,  p.  245. 

50  This  is  Ribet's  opinion,  based  upon  that  of  several  good  authorities. 
Poulain  says  it  may  last  even  for  days;  but  this  is  probably  with  in- 
tervals. Scaramelli  says  it  "  may  last  for  several  hours  or  even  for  sev- 
eral days,  but  during  this  period  there  may  be  fluctuations  of  intensity." 
(Op.  eit.,  p.  80.) 

60  '*  The  Illusion  of  Levitation,"  Journal  of  Ahnormal  Psychology,  XIII, 
42-53,  119-27. 

61  "Vie,"  p.  200,  and  other  parts  of  Chapter  20. 


422  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

is  lifted  up  from  the  floor  and  I  feci  liglit  and  floating,  so  to 
speak,  in  the  air.  Though  my  eyes  are  shut  I  see  objects  far 
below  and  yet  I  feel  my  anns  on  my  bed  (as  I  usually  kneel 
down  beside  the  bed).  ...  I  feel  no  weight  of  body  and  my 
body  becomes  as  light  as  a  feather."  It  will  be  noted  that  the 
sense  of  pressure  in  the  arms  is  referred  to  but  not  in  the  legs 
and  feet,  and  that  visual  images  contribute  to  the  sense  of 
floating  in  the  air.  It  seems  likely  enough  that  the  vaso-motor 
relaxation  to  which  Mr.  Horton  refers  may  also  have  super- 
vened.®^ So  common  is  this  experience  to  those  who  attain 
to  the  stage  of  ravishment  that  the  good  Father  Ribet.  who  ac- 
cepts piously  what  the  Church  teaches  him,  remarks,  "  There 
are  but  few  ecstatics  who  have  not  been  seen,  at  one  time  or 
another,  during  their  ravishment  elevated  in  air  without 
support,  sometimes  floating  and  swinging  in  the  slightest 
breeze  " ! ®^ 

Before  going  on  to  the  question  of  trance  I  should  perhaps 
deal  with  certain  other  pathological  phenomena  sometimes  found 
in  the  extreme  type  of  ecstasy.  As  early  in  the  development 
of  the  mystic  experience  as  the  '*  oraison  de  quietude  "  (St. 
Teresa's  first  stage,  as  the  reader  will  remember)  there  may 
develop  a  loss  of  will  which  the  technical  writers  of  the  Church 
have  named  ''  ligature."  In  this  state  one  feels  hound,  and  is 
unable  to  carry  out  various  small  activities  of  body  or  mind. 
As  prayer  is  the  principal  voluntary  activity  in  the  mystic  state, 
the  mvstics'  attention  has  been  chieflv  struck  bv  the  fact  that 
they  often  find  it  impossible  to  pray  —  either  aloud  or  even 
inwardly;  they  cannot  tell  the  nature  of  the  interdiction  but 
feel  themselves  quite  passive  and  powerless.  At  deeper  stages 
of  the  ecstasy  (especially  in  the  ravishment,  as  has  already  been 
said)  control  over  the  voluntary  muscles  is  sometimes  lost. 
And  parallel  w^ith  this  impairment  of  the  will  goes  a  weakening 
of  various  non-voluntary  bodily  functions  and  a  gradual  and 

62  Cases  of  levitation  are  not  uncommon.  Another  case  besides  that  of 
the  student  referred  to  above  has  come  to  my  notice,  the  experience  com- 
ing suddenly  while  the  individual  was  walking  about  a  cathedral.  In 
Mr.  Horton's  opinion  it  is  common  to  many  of  us  on  going  to  sleep,  but 
is  unobserved  and  forgotten.  Eight  out  of  thirty  subjects  in  whom  he 
indiinod  slei'p  reported  the  experience.     Op.  cit.,  p.  50. 

63  Vol.  II,  p.  639. 


THE  ECSTASY  423 

partial  loss  of  sense  perception.^^  Respiration  is  in  part  ar- 
rested, the  heart  beats  very  faintly,  the  circulation  becomes  slug- 
gish, and  as  a  consequence  the  bodily  heat  is  largely  lost.  The 
eyes  may  remain  open,  but  if  they  do  they  see  surrounding  ob- 
jects (if  at  all)  as  through  a  veil  or  smoke.*^'^  Hearing  is  not 
so  much  affected  as  sight,  and  pressure  apparently  still  less. 
The  pain  threshold  is  probably  considerably  raised  during  the 
ecstasy  —  as  is  likely  to  be  the  case  at  all  times  of  concentrated 
attention  and  narrowed  consciousness.  Whether  the  senses  of 
smell  and  taste  are  affected  is  obviously  a  question  on  which 
data  would  not  naturally  be  furnished  by  the  mystics, —  al- 
though as  pointed  out  in  a  previous  note,  Scaramelli  insists  that 
they  too  quite  cease  to  function.  This  passive  condition,  ac- 
cording to  St.  Teresa,  never  lasts  longer  than  half  an  hour,  sel- 
dom so  long;  although  counting  the  alternating  states  of  more 
wakeful  and  active  consciousness  it  may  last  several  hours. ®^ 
It  seems  probable  that  will  and  sensation  are  but  seldom  as 
completely  inhibited  in  ^'  ligature "  as  many  of  the  mystics 
themselves  have  believed.  Professor  Janet's  interesting  study 
of  a  modern  ecstatic,  whom  he  was  able  to  have  under  careful 
observation  in  the  Salpetriere,  shows  that  she  was  really  in 
much  closer  touch  with  the  outer  world  and  much  better  able 
to  react  upon  it  during  her  ecstatic  state  than  she  herself 
supposed.  '"  If  there  is  [during  the  ecstasy]  some  good  reason 
for  it,  either  in  her  ideas  or  in  external  events,  Madeleine  can 
very  well  decide  upon  action."  She  could  even  converse  with 
Janet  and  follow  him  to  the  laboratorv.  "  It  is  the  same  with 
the  physiological  disturbances.  She  supposes  that  her  lips  are 
glued  together  and  that  she  does  not  breathe  at  all  during  the 
ecstasy,  but  if  one  measures  the  respiration  one  finds  it  slight 

64  Scaramelli  is  the  systematizer  most  quoted  as  authority  in  this 
matter.  He  writes  thus  of  the  bodily  effects  of  ecstasy :  "  Quasi  sono 
un'impotenza  totale  nei  sentimenti  esterni  a  produrre  le  loro  operazioni 
sensitive;  sicche  non  possa  Tocchio  rimirare;  ne  I'orecchio  ascoltare;  n&  11 
tatto,  benchS  tormentato  da  ferro  e  fuoco,  sentire  dolore;  ne  I'odorato 
sentiro  la  fragranza;  ne  il  palato  sentire  il  sapore;  n&  possa  alcun  mem- 
bro  con  mini  mo  suo  moto  dar  segno  alcuno  di  vita."  Quoted  by  Ribet, 
Vol.  II,  p.  438,  note. 

65  See  Poulain,  p.  165,  who  says  that  several  mystics  have  told  him  this 
in  describing  their  experience. 

66  "  Vie,"  p.  173. 


424  THE  KELiGlOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

indeed  (12  a  minute)  but  sufficiently  normal.  .  .  .  These  ob- 
servations show  us  well  enough  that  sensation  also  is  not  sup- 
pressed, and  that  it  is  not  altogether  the  death  of  sense  as  the 
patient  supposes.  All  sorts  of  experiences  which  I  cannot  in- 
dicate prove  that  ^Iad(>leine  perceives  very  well  the  objects 
which  I  place  in  her  hand  during  the  ecstasy,  that  she  recog- 
nizes them,  that  she  hears  and  sees  if  she  consents  to  open  her 
eyes.  It  is  for  sensation,  as  for  movement,  only  a  sluggishness 
of  the  subject,  who  has  only  to  turn  her  attention  in  order  to 
do  whatever  one  asks  of  her."  ®^ 

Madeleine's  was,  of  course,  not  one  of  the  most  extreme 
cases, —  although  had  we  been  dependent  for  our  knowledge  on 
her  own  description,  based  on  introspection  and  memory,  we 
should  undoubtedly  have  considered  her  much  more  cut  off 
from  the  world  of  sense  than  she  really  was.  But  while  we 
cannot  accept  the  descriptions  of  the  ecstatics  themselves  as  abso- 
lutely reliable  in  this  matter,  there  is  no  doubt  that  in  the  con- 
dition  of  "  ligature  "  the  voluntary  control  of  the  muscles  is  con- 
siderably weakened  and  the  sensations  become  very  dull  and 
dim.  The  higher  centers  of  the  brain  seem  to  be  partially  split 
off  from  the  incoming  sensory  currents,  on  the  one  hand,  and 
from  the  motor  centers,  on  the  other. ,  Thus  the  mvstic  becomes 
more  and  more  cut  off  from  the  outer  world.®*  While  this  is 
happening,  be  it  remembered,  the  mental  state  itself  is  usually 
becoming  narrower  and  more  "  simple,"  and  the  many  objects 
of  normal  consciousness  gradually  tend  to  give  way  to  a  state  of 
monoideism.  And  in  those  rare  cases  where  the  ecstasv  is  con- 
tinned  to  its  extreme  and  the  psychological  tendencies  which  have 
characterized  its  progress  are  carried  out  to  the  end,  the  state 
^-vvi)f  monoideism  gives  place  to  a  condition  of  almost  pure  emotion. 
That  there  can  be  such  a  thing  as  absolutely  pure  emotion  with 

67  Op.  cit.,  pp.  228,  229. 

•8  St.  Teresa  describes  her  own  experience  as  follows:  "  L'Ame  tombe 
dans  une  espece  d'evanouissement,  qui,  peu  il  pen,  cnleve  an  corps  la  respi- 
ration et  toiites  les  forces.  Elle  ne  peut,  sans  un  tres  p(^nible  effort,  faire 
menie  le  moindre  moiivement  des  mains.  Les  yciix  se  ferment,  sans  qu'elle 
veuille  les  fermer;  et  si  elle  les  tint  ouverts,  elle  ne  voit  prosque  rien.  Elle 
est  incapable  de  lire,  en  eftt-elle  le  desir;  elle  apercoit  bien  des  lettres, 
mais  commc  I'esprit  n'agit  pas,  elle  ne  pent  ni  les  distinguer  ni  les  assem- 
bler. Quand  on  lui  parle,  elle  entend  le  son  de  la  voix,  mais  elle  ne  com- 
prend  pas  ce  qu'elle  entend." 


THE  ECSTASY  425 

no  central  idea  seems  to  me  exceedingly  doubtful,  and  one  cer- 
tainly not  to  be  demonstrated  by  the  somewhat  indefinite  de- 
scriptions  of  the  mystics.  That  some  of  them,  in  the  ecstasy,  do 
attain  to  a  condiftion  approximating  to  pure  emotion  as  nearly 
as  is  possible  we  may  however  accept.  This  is  especially  true 
of  the  Quietists,  and  Mme.  Guyon  in  particular  is  cited  by 
Murisier  in  illustration  of  the  pure  emotional  condition  which 
is,  according  to  him,  a  regular  stage  of  the  ecstasy  when  carried 
to  its  extreme  form.     Mme.  Guyon's  description  is  as  follows : 

"  The  whole  occupation  of  the  soul  is  a  general  love,  without 
motive,  without  reason  for  loving.  Ask  of  her  what  she  does 
in  the  orison  and  during  the  day;  she  will  tell  you  that  she 
loves.  But  what  motive  or  what  reason  have  you  for  loving? 
She  knows  nothing  about  that.  All  that  she  knows  is  that  she 
loves  and  that  she  burns  to  suffer  for  that  which  she  loves.  Bui 
is  it,  perchance,  the  vision  of  the  sufferings  of  your  Well-be- 
loved, 0  soul,  that  make  you  thus  long  to  suffer  ?  ^  Alas,'  she 
respodds,  '  they  do  not  even  enter  into  my  mind.'  But  is  it, 
then,  the  desire  to  imitate  the  virtues  which  you  see  in  Him? 
^  I  do  not  even  think  of  them.'  But  what,  then  do  vou  do  ? 
*  I  love.'  But  is  it  not  the  sight  of  the  beauty  of  your  Lover 
which  rouses  your  heart  ?     ^  I  do  not  see  that  beauty.'  "  ^® 

When  this  exceptional  state  of  consciousness  is  reached  "  the 
intellectual  elements  of  belief  are  lost,  the  soul  is  nothing  but 
ardor  and  love.  God  manifests  Himself  still,  but  without  the 
intermediation  of  any  concrete  or  abstract  representative,  in  an 
incomprehensible  manner,  in  complete  darkness.  .  .  .  The  emo- 
tion itself  probably  has  diminished  in  intensity  at  this  point; 
but  it  seems  very  intense  because  of  its  isolation."  '^^ 

The  usual  laws  of  psychic  regression  Avould,  as  Murisier  has 
also  pointed  out,^^  demand  that  the  intellectual  elements  should 

69  Quoted  from  "  Torrents  Spirituels,"  by  Murisier,  "  Les  Maladies  du 
Sentiment  Religieux,"  p.  64.  Cf.  also  the  following  from  the  *'  Beguines  " 
of  Kuysbroeck:  '.' Le  quatrieme  mode  d'aimer  est  un  ^tat  de  vide,  oil  Ton 
est  uni  a  Dieu  par  un  amour  nu,  et  dans  una  lumiere  divine,  libre  et  vide 
de  toute  pratique  amoureuse,  par  dehl  les  cuuvres  et  les  exercises  de  la 
piete;  simple  et  pur  amour,  qui  consume  et  aneantit  en  lui-meme  ITime 
humaine,  de  telle  sorte  que  Ton  ne  songe  plus  ni  a  soi-meme,  ni  a  Dieu, 
ni  a  quelque  chose  de  cr66.  Rien  qu'aimer!  *'  Quoted  by  Hebert,  "  Le 
Divin,"  p.  44. 

70  Murisier,  pp.  62-63. 

71  P.  65. 


426  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

give  place  to  the  affective  elements,  that  the  emotion  itself 
should  pale  into  indifTcronco,  and  that  finally  consciousness, 
thus  narrowed  to  a  point,  should  at  length  go  out  altogether  and 
bo  rophicod   bv  the  complete  unconsciousness  of  the  trance.^ ^ 

72  This  wa}'  of  reducing  tonsciousness  to  the  minimum  and  inducing 
trance  is  by  no  means  i)eculiar  to  religious  mysticism.  The  proper  psy- 
chological methods  will  bring  it  about  without  involving  any  "  sense  of 
presence  "  or  any  '*  union  with  the  divine."  The  last  two  stages  of  the 
•*  Noble  Eightfold  Path  "  of  Buddhism  — "  Meditation  "  and  "  Contempla- 
tion "  lead  up  to  it,  though  the  ideational  ekmont  in  them  is  on  a  per- 
fectly atheistic  basis.  One  of  the  sermons  of  (Jautama,  preserved  for  ua 
(in  probably  something  very  like  its  origin  form)  in  the  Majjhima- 
>iikaya  describes  the  process  with  real  psychological  exactness.  The 
reader  will  note  the  order  of  regression :  sensual  pleasures,  reasoning,  joy, 
perception  of  diversity,  and  at  last  consciousness  itself  going  out  one  by 
one. 

"  The  monk,  having  isolated  himself  from  sensual  pleasures  and  de- 
meritorious traits,  and  still  exercising  reasoning  and  reflection,  enters 
upon  the  tirst  trance  which  is  produced  by  isolation  and  characterized 
by  joy  and  happiness.  .  .  .  Then  through  the  subsidence  of  reasoning  and 
reflection,  and  still  retaining  joy  and  happiness,  he  enters  upon  the  second 
trance,  which  is  an  inner  tranquillizatiou  and  intentness  of  the  thoughts, 
and  is  produced  by  concentration.  But  again,  through  the  paling  of  joy, 
indifferent,  contemplative,  conscious,  and  in  the  experience  of  bodily  hap- 
piness, he  enters  upon  the  third  trance.  .  .  .  But  again,  through  the 
abandonment  of  happiness  and  misery,  through  the  disappearance  of  all 
antecedent  gladness  or  grief,  he  enters  upon  the  fourth  trance  which  is 
neither  misery  nor  happiness,  but  is  contemplation  as  refined  by  indiffer- 
ence. .  .  .  But  again,  through  having  completely  overpassed  all  percep- 
tions of  form,  through  the  perishing  of  the  perceptions  of  inertia,  and 
through  ceasing  to  dwell  on  perceptions  of  diversity,  the  monk  says  to 
himself,  '  tSpace  is  infinite,'  and  dwells  in  the  realm  of  infinite  space.  .  .  . 
But  again  through  having  completely  overpassed  the  realm  of  infinite 
space,  the  monk  says  to  himself,  '  Consciousness  is  infinite  '  and  he  dwells 
in  the  realm  of  infinite  consciousness.  .  .  .  But  again  ...  he  says  to  him- 
self '  Nothing  exists,'  and  he  dwells  in  the  realm  of  nothingness.  .  .  .  But 
again,  having  completely  overpassed  the  realm  of  nothingness,  he  dwells 
in  the  realm  of  neither  perception  nor  yet  non-perception.  [That  is  he 
has  ceased  to  say  anything  to  himself,  ceased  to  formulate  the  content  of 
consciousness  in  any  way.]  .  .  .  But  again,  through  having  completely 
overpassed  the  realm  of  neither  perception  nor  yet  non-perception,  he 
arrives  at  the  cessation  of  perception  and  sensation."  Warren's  '*  Bud- 
dhism in  Translations"  (Cambridge;  Harvard  Univ.  Press;  1896),  pp. 
347-349.  Hinduism  has  made  more  of  the  mystic  trance  than  Buddhism, 
connectinix  it,  as  the  necplatonists  did.  with  the  immediate  intuition  of 
the  Absolute.  Tlie  Jvshurika  Upanishad  gives  careful  directions  as  to  the 
psychological  methods  by  which  it  may  be  attained;  see  Deussen's  transla- 
tion— "  Sechzig  Upanishad  des  Veda,"  pp.  634-36.  Under  the  name 
Samadhi  it  is  still  the  aim  of  the  Hindu  mystic,  though  there  are  few  if 
any   of   the  present   generation   who   claim   to   have   attained   it.     Rama- 


THE  ECSTASY  427 

In  the  mysticism  of  the  Indian  specialists  this  in  fact  is  what  we 
find,  and  occasionally  also  in  a  few  extreme  mediaeval  Christian 
mystics.  It  is  a  mistake,  however,  to  consider  this  typical  of 
Christian  mysticism ;  its  real  home  is  India. 

The  complete  loss  af  consciousness  is  a  more  natural  aim  of 
the  Indian,  whether  Buddhist,  Yogin,  or  Vedantist,  than  of  the 
orthodox  Christian  because  of  their  contrasting  views  of  the  su- 
preme good.  The  extinction  of  what  we  know  as  consciousness 
in  Nirvana,  the  freedom  of  the  "  purusha  "  or  soul  from  all 
content  of  consciousness,  the  identification  of  the  '^  atman  "  or 
self  with  Brahman  or  the  pure  perceiving  subject  who  per- 
ceives nothing  in  particular  —  these  are  the  ideals  of  many  of 
the  Indian  mystics,  and  hence  the  unconsciousness  of  the  trance 
is  deliberately  sought.  When  Agatasatru  wished  to  teach  his 
pupil  what  it  was  to  know  Brahman,  he  '^  took  him  by  the  hand 
and  rose  and  the  two  together  came  to  a  person  who  was 
asleep."  '^^  The  ideal  of  the  orthodox  Christian  mystic,  on  the 
other  hand,  is  very  different;  his  goal  is  always  some  form  of 
consciousness  or  activity.  Hence  it  is  only  the  exceptional 
Christian  ecstasy  that  ends  in  trance.  That  this  sometimes  hap- 
pens, cannot,  of  course,  be  denied.  Sometimes,  as  says  St.  Fran- 
gois  de  Sales,  ^'  the  soul  ceases  even  to  hear  her  Well-beloved, 
or  to  perceive  any  sign  of  his  presence.  On  awaking  she  may 
say  truly,  I  have  slept  in  the  presence  of  my  God  and  within 
the  arms  of  His  providence,  and  I  knew  it  not."  ^^  The  prac- 
tices of  many  of  the  heretical  Christian  mystics,  such  as  the 
Quietists  on  Mt.  Athos,"^^  approached  rather  closely  to  those 
of  the  Indians.  And  the  protests  of  St.  Teresa  against  the 
*'  longs  evanouissements  '*  "^^  practiced  in  many  orthodox  mon- 

krishna,  the  Hindu  saint  who  died  in  the  year  1886  attained  it  many 
times.  See,  for  example,  "The  Gospel  of  Ramakrishna,"  pp.  189,  209-10; 
also  Max  Miiller's  "Ramakrishna,  his  Life  and  Sayings,"  pp.  34,  112. 

73  Brihadaranyaka  Upanishad.  Max  Miiller's  translation.  S.  B.  E. 
Vol.  I,  Part  II, 'p-  103. 

74  Quoted  by  Leuha,  op.  cit.,  p.  451. 

75  Cf.  Reckenbergius,  "  Exercitationum  in  N.  Testamentum."  (Lipsiae, 
1707),  pp.  388-389. 

76  This  sort  of  "spiritual  sensuality"  is  in  fact  recognized  as  such  and 
heartily  discouraged  by  the  Church  and  by  the  orthodox  mystics.  "  One 
does  very  ill,"  says  St.  Teresa,  "  in  employing  in  the  si-rvice  of  God  long 
hours  lost  in  this  kind  of  drunkenness."  And  she  advises  the  strict  elimi- 
nation from  all  monasteries  of  these  "  longs  evanouissements.*' 


428  THE  KELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

asteries  in  her  day,  and  similar  protests  by  other  sensible  saints, 
show  that  ecstatic  conditions  bordering  on  trance  were  by  no 
means  iinkno\\Ti,  though  never  approved,  within  the  Church. 
The  ecstasies  of  Professor  Flournoy's  '*  modern  mystic  '^  regu- 
larly ended  in  a  short  lapse  of  consciousness,  or  possibly  in  a 
drenni  forgotten  on  awaking.'^  Of  her  tenth  ecstasy  (which  was 
quite  typical)  she  writes  as  follows:  ''  It  seemed  to  me  that  I 
was  only  soul,  dra\m  irresistibly  by  the  universal  soul,  bv  the 
luminous  reality,  the  sum  of  all  partial  realities.  I  tried  to  col- 
lect my  thoughts  and  to  pray,  but  could  not ;  that  would  have 
been  to  return,  to  fall  back  into  the  visible.  Finally  the  sense 
of  floating  became  less  and  less  conscious  and  I  perceived  the 
inner  light  [a  regular  experience  in  her  ecstasies].  I  had  the 
impression  of  plunging  into  it  with  a  cry  of  joy,  of  finding 

again  the  source  of  life  itself [These  dashes  she  uses 

regularly  to  indicate  the  lapse  of  consciousness].  I  emerged  on 
the  other  side  of  the  Experience  with  a  sense  of  great  spiritual 
wellbeing.  of  having  renewed  my  strength,  of  having  communed 
wdth  God  without  intermediary,  without  language  nor  for- 
mula." 78 

Leuba  has  pointed  out  that  the  mystic  trance  does  not  differ 
psychologically  in  any  essential  from  other  kinds  of  trance; 
and  that  it  very  closely  resembles  hypnosis.  This  too  begins 
with  a  narrowing  of  consciousness,  a  "  simplification  "  of  the 
mental  field,  and  is  characterized  by  a  gradual  loss  of  control 
over  the  voluntary  muscles  and  by  hallucinations, —  these  things 
being  suggested  by  the  h>T)notist.  The  deliberate  methods  of 
some  of  the  Indian  mystics,  in  fact,  are  almost  identical  with 
those  of  the  scientific  hypnotist.  The  Yogin  chooses  a  quiet 
place,  seats  himself  in  a  position  that  will  not  attract  his  mind 
to  bodily  sensations,  murmurs  the  mystic  word  Om,  fixes  his 
attention  on  his  thumb  or  his  navel,  or  on  successive  parts  of 
his  body,  thus  narrowing  his  attention,  or,  deliberately  fixing 
his  mind  upon  the  self  alone,  seeks  to  "  think  of  nothing,"  un- 
itil  at  last  he  falls  into  unconsciousness.''® 

77  This  is  suggested  in  her  account  of  her  eleventh  ecstasy.     See  op.  cit., 
p.  89. 

78  Op.  cit.,  p.  83. 

79  Cf.    the   Kshurika    Upanishad    (Deussen's   translation),   esp.   w.    2-7, 


r, 


THE  ECSTASY  429 

The  mystic  trance  differs  from  the  hypnotic  trance,  however, 
in  that  it  lacks  the  final  stage  of  somnambulism,  in  which  the 
hypnotized  person  performs  various  actions  at  the  suggestion 
of  the  hypnotist.  What  is  the  explanation  for  this  ?  Leuba's 
answer  is  (and  in  this  he  seems  to  be  quite  in  the  right)  that 
throughout  the  earlier  stages  of  the  m3^stic  trance  the  idea  of 
God  is  substituted  for  the  hypnotist  f^  and  that  when  the  mystic 
has  reached  the  extreme  form  of  his  ecstasy  where  all  ideas,  even 
that  of  God,  vanish,  there  remains  no  source  of  further  sug- 
gestion, and  hence  the  mystic  either  returns  to  ordinary  con- 
sciousness or  lapses  into  normal  sleep. 

11-12,  21-23.     Also  the  Bhagavad  Gita,  VI,  18,  S.  B.  E.     Vol.  VIII,  Part 
III,  pp.  68-70. 

80  Sometimes,  however,  the  confessor  or  director  seems  to  play  a  part 
corresponding  somewhat  to  that  of  the  hypnotist.  Thus  it  is  related  of 
St.  Francesca  Romana  that  during  ecstasy  he  could  hear  the  questions  of 
his  confessor  but  not  those  of  others.  See  Poulain,  p.  165.  Cf.  also  Scara- 
melli,  "Mystical  Theology"   (English  translation),  p.  76. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

THE   MYSTIC   LIFE 

The  amount  of  space  I  have  devoted  to  the  various  aber- 
rations of  the  ecstatic  condition  must  not  be  taken  as  indicat- 
ing the  amount  of  importance  belonging  to  this  unfortunate 
side  of  mysticism.  As  I  have  several  times  pointed  out,  these 
pathological  extremes  are  by  no  means  characteristic  of  all  the 
mystics;  and  when  they  do  occur  they  are  seldom  regarded 
even  by  those  who  experience  them  as  of  the  first  importance. 
Of  course,  there  have  been,  even  in  the  Christian  Church,  a 
large  number  of  individuals  who  have  induced  the  ecstatic  con- 
dition for  the  sake  of  its  pleasure  and  indulged  repeatedly  in 
this  spiritual  drunkenness  (as  St.  Teresa  calls  it)  for  its  own 
sake.  This,  however,  has  not  been  the  practice  of  the  majority 
whom  posterity  has  recognized  as  "  the  great  mystics  '' ;  and  to 
emphasize  the  ecstasy  and  its  accompanying  abnormal  phenom- 
ena as  if  it  were  the  whole  of  mysticism  would  therefore  be  a 
misleading  (though  it  is  unfortunately  a  common)  way  of  treat- 
ing the  subject.  To  understand  mysticism  aright  one  must  take 
into  consideration  the  whole  life  of  the  mystic,  including  both 
the  recurring  states  of  ecstasy  and  the  periods  intervening  be- 
tween them  or  subsequent  to  them. 

'^  Herbert  Spencer  has  sought  to  show  that  the  "  Rhythm  of 
Motion  '^  is  one  of  the  fundamental  laws  of  the  material  uni- 
verse.^ However  this  may  be,  it  is  certain  that  rhj-thm  is  one 
of  the  fundamental  characteristics  of  human  life.  The  pen- 
dulum swing  of  our  moods,  each  giving  place  to  its  opposite,  has 
been  noted  over  and  over  again  by  most  observers  of  human 
nature.  Disgust  follows  undue  indulgence,  depression  follows 
great  elation,  sleep  follows  activity.  And  like  the  pendulum, 
moreover,  the  farther  we  go  to  one  side  the  longer  is  likely  to  be 
our  swing  in  the  opposite  direction  when  the  time  for  it  comes. 
The  mercurial  temperament  knows  both  the  keenest  delight  and 

j  the  deepest  (temporary)  depression;  while  the  man  of  phleg- 

1 "  First  Principles,"  Part  II,  Giapter  X. 

430 


THE  MYSTIC  LIFE  431 

matic  disposition  is  less  influenced  by  either.  It  was  in  part 
upon  this  psychological  law  that  the  Buddha  founded  his  great 
principle  for  the  destruction  of  sorrow;  give  up  the  intense 
and  passionate  joys  of  life  and  you  will  avoid  most  of  its  intense 
suffering;  keep  the  pendulum  from  swinging  to  the  right  and 
there  will  be  no  danger  of  its  swinging  to  the  left. 

Now  the  Christian  ecstatic  though  in  some  respects  strik- 
ingly Buddhistic,  is  in  this  matter  at  the  very  antipodes  of 
the  Buddhist  ideal.  He  longs  for  and  patiently  cultivates  the 
intense  joy  of  the  ecstasy;  and  by  the  law  of  rhythm  he  usually 
has  to  pay  for  it  by  periods  of  suffering  and  "  dryness  "  which 
bring  him  as  much  depression  as  the  ecstasy  brought  elation. 
His  is  merely  an  extreme  case  of  what  we  all  experience,  and  , 
it  is  based  ultimately  on  what  is  perhaps  a  purely  physical  law.^  / 

It  would  be  a  mistake  to  suppose  that  the  ecstasy  is  an  experi- 
ence of  mere  sweetness.  For  many  mystics  it  is  what  Browning 
describes  as  the  ideal  of  joy  —  "  three  parts  pain."  ^  It  is, 
however,  a  very  real  and  intense  joy.  This  cannot  be  said 
of  the  periods  of  dryness.  /  The  sufferings  of  the  ecstatics  dur-  j 
ing  these  times  are  of  many  sorts.  St.  John  of  the  Cross  classi- 
fies them  as  of  three  kinds :  loss  of  delight  in  any  creature,  the 

2  The  ecstatics  themselves  have  their  own  theological  explanation  for 
this:  the  favors  of  God  in  the  ecstasy  if  unaccompanied  by  pain  might  be 
sought  too  exclusively  for  their  own  sakes,  or  fill  the  soul  with  pride; 
the  soul  needs  further  purifications  besides  those  which  the  mystic  can 
actively  inllict  upon  himself,  hence  these  "  passive  purifications " ;  and 
then  God  comforts,  encourages,  and  rewards  him  again  by  the  "  consola- 
tions "  of  the  returning  ecstasy.  Cf.  Montmorand,  "  Les  Mystiques  en 
dehors  de  I'Extase,"  Rev.  Phil,  LVIII,  621-22.  Cf.  also  the  following 
from  the  "  Theologia  Germanica  " :  "  Christ's  soul  must  needs  descend  into 
hell  before  it  ascended  into  heaven.  So  must  also  the  soul  of  man.  .  .  . 
Now  God  is  not  forsaking  a  man  in  this  hell,  but  He  is  laying  His  hand 
upon  him  that  the  man  may  not  desire  nor  regard  anything  but  the 
Eternal  Good  only,  and  may  come  to  know  that  that  is  so  noble  and  pass- 
ing good  that  none  can  search  out  or  express  its  bliss,  consolation  and 
joy,  peace,  rest  and  satisfaction.  .  .  .  Again:  this  hell  and  this  heaven 
come  about  a  man  in  such  sort,  that  he  knoweth  not  whence  they  come; 
and  whether  they  come  to  him  or  depart  from  him,  he  can  of  himself  do 
nothing  towards  it.  .  .  .  And  when  a  man  is  in  one  of  these  two  states, 
all  is  right  with  him,  and  he  is  as  safe  in  hell  as  in  heaven,  and  so  long 
as  a  man  is  on  earth  it  is  possible  for  him  to  pass  ofttimes  from  the  one 
into  the  other;  nay  even  within  the  space  of  a  day  and  tiight,  and  all 
without  his  own  doing."  Chapter  XI  (translation  by  Susanna  Wink- 
worth  ) . 

8  Cf .  St.  Teresa,  "  Vie,"  pp.  194-96. 


432  THE  KELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

1  feeling  of  one's  distance  from  God  and  the  memory  of  the  joy 
of  ecstasy  which  is  no  longer  to  be  had,  and  thirdly  inability  to 
"  meditate  "  or  to  excite  oneself  to  pious  emotion  by  the  use  of 
the  imagination.'*  This  triad,  however,  fails  to  exhaust  all  the 
ills  reported  by  many  of  the  mystics  during  these  times  of  dry- 

V  ness.  St.  Teresa's  chief  source  of  pain  seems  to  have  been  a  re- 
current doubt  as  to  whether  her  mystic  experiences  were  not 
after  all  the  product  of  illusion  and  the  work  of  the  Wicked 
One.^  Another  source  of  grief,  especially  with  mystics  less 
completely  devoted  than  Teresa,  is  hardness  of  heart  and  a  re- 
newal of  worldly  temptations.  Causes  of  a  similar  sort  could 
be  cited  for  the  pains  and  dryness  of  some  of  the  Hindu  mystics. 

j  As  a  rule,  it  may  be  said,  the  phenomenon  is  due  to  an  impover- 
ishment of  the  emotional  life  through  its  over  stimulation  dur- 
ing the  periods  of  ecstasy.  The  former  joy  is  remembered  and 
longed  for  but  does  not  come ;  hence  disappointment.  The 
methods  that  usually  succeed  in  bringing  one  at  least  into  a 
state  of  pleasant  and  pious  calm  are  in  vain.  The  emotional 
nature  being  temporarily  worn  out  and  exhausted,  the  mystics 
can  take  no  pleasure  in  anything,  divine  or  human ;  all  is  vanity 
and  vexation  of  spirit.  The  sense  of  fatigue,  like  a  mist,  settles 
down  over  the  earth  and  shuts  out  heaven.  Even  the  truths  of 
theolog}^,  having  lost  their  emotional  tinge,  appear  as  mere  in- 
tellectual judgments  and  hence,  seen  in  the  cold  light  of  logic, 
may  be  positively  doubted  —  to  the  great  dismay  of  the  mys- 
tic.    And  in  like  manner  virtue  itself  mav  lose  some  of  its 

c/ 

luster,  or  the  effort  to  strive  after  an  almost  unattainable  goal 
jnay  seem  to  the  poor  tired  will  hardly  worth  the  while. 
"  Sometimes,"  says  St.  Teresa,  in  describing  the  experience  as 
she  knew  it,  "  I  find  myself  in  a  sort  of  strange  stupidity.  I 
do  neither  good  nor  evil ;  I  go  as  I  am  directed  by  others,  exper- 
iencing neither  positive  pain  nor  consolation,  insensible  to  life 
as  to  death,  to  pleasure  as  to  sorrow."  ^ 

These  periods  lasted  with  St.  Teresa  some  two  or  three 
weeks.  With  Mme.  Guyon  such  a  period  once  lasted,  with 
slight  alteration,  for  five  years.  St.  Chantal  suffered  even  more 
extremely  in  this  manner  for  the  last  seven  or  eight  years  of  her 

*Cf.  Ribet,  Vol.  I,  pp.  374-75. 
liSee,  e.g.,  the  "Vie,"  pp.  328-29. 
6  "  Vie,"  Chapter  XXX. 


i 


THE  MYSTIC  LIFE  433 

life  —  though  the  last  two  months  hefore  her  death  brought  her 
"  consolation  "  once  more.  Cases  like  the  last  two  mentioned 
are  not  usual.  Move  frequently  the  periods  of  suffering  are 
more  evenly  interspersed  with  those  of  joy;  though  there  is 
certainly  a  tendency  for  them  to  be  grouped  largely  in  one 
period  of  the  mystic's  life;  and  especially  is  this  true  of  the 
greater  mystics."^ 

It  must  not  be  supposed,  however,  that  the  life  of  the  mystic] 
consists  chiefly  in  a  succession  of  elated  and  depressed  moods; 
that  it  is  nothing  but  "  ecstasy  "  and  "  dryness."  There  is  an- 
other rhythm  more  important  in  the  life  of  the  mystic  than 
that  between  pleasure  and  pain ;  it  is,  namely,  the  rhythm  of 
contemplation  and  activity.  The  life  of  the  morally  great  mys- 
tic out  of  the  ecstasy  is  not  so  much  a  life  of  depression  as  aj 
life  of  action, '  This  of  course  is  not  true  of  all.  Many  in- 
mates of  the  monasteries  have  spent  their  lives  sucking  the 
sweets  of  ecstasy  and  paying  for  it  by  periods  of  emotional 
and  volitional  fatis:ue.  But  manv  of  those  individuals  who  are 
by  common  consent  considered  the  great  and  typical  mystics, 
and  upon  whom  the  Church  has  set  her  stamp  of  approval,  have 
been  noted  for  their  activity  as  well  as  for  their  emotions.  '' And^ 
in  their  cases  the  rhythm  between  meditation  on  the  one  hand, 
and  active  work  on  the  other,  has  been  essentiallv  healthful  and 
desirable.  The  mystic  of  this  active  type  often  comes  back  from 
his  contemplation,  and  sometimes  from  his  ecstasy,  with  a 
heightened  moral  enthusiasm  for  the  strenuous  and  the  heroic.® 
In  like  manner,  activity  prepares  one  the  better  for  contempla- 
tion. The  two  fire  complementary  and  lend  each  other  mutual 
aid.  Their  rhythm  is  analogous  not  so  much  to  that  of  elation 
and  depression  as  to  that  of  exercise  and  rest.     As  Joly  puts  it 

7  Murisier  points  out  (pp.  33-36)  that  this  stage  of  "dryness"  is  an- 
alogous to  the  periods  between  hypnosis  in  the  life  of  the  mentally  dis- 
eased. As  the  hypnotic  trance  into  which  the  patient  is  thrown  for 
therapeutic  reasons  corresponds  to  the  ecstasy  of  the  mystic,  so  the  dis- 
quiet of  the  period  of  dryness  corresponds  to  the  longing  which  the  patient 
feels,  after  the  immediate  effects  of  the  hypnosis  have  begun  to  pass  away, 
to  be  quieted  and  put  to  sleep  again  by  the  hypnotist.  This  is  an  excellent 
comparison  and  throws  light  on  the  cases  to  which  it  applies.  It  must 
again  be  noted,  however,  that  this  condition  of  affairs  is  true  only  of 
the  more  pathological  cases  and  is  by  no  means  typical  of  all  mysticism 
as  such. 

8  Cf.  Boutroux,  op.  cit.,  p.  186. 


484  THE  RELIGIOUS  COXSCIOrSXESS 

in  his  "  Psycholopie  des  Saints,"  "  Contemplation  is  closely  con- 
nected with  love  and  active  love ;  it  is  the  effect  of  love  already 
exercised  and  already  intense :  it  is  the  inspiration  and  the  di- 
rector of  a  love  still  more  ardent."  ^ 

These  three  thinps,  then, —  (1)  contemplation  and  ecstatic 
joy,  (2)  suffering  and  dryness,  and  (3)  active  service  guided 
and  inspired  by  the  love  of  God  —  make  up,  together,  the  life 
^  of  the  great  mystic^  The  further  question,  therefore,  naturally 
arises.  Are  these  three  definitely  related  so  as  to  make  up  one 
general  scheme  with  a  logical  or  psychological  development,  or 
are  they  separate  and  do  they  simply  arise  without  special  or- 
der and  haphazard  ?  Certainly  this  question  is  an  important 
one  and  has  not  been  often  enough  raised.  The  mystic  experi- 
ence has  been  carefully  studied  by  psychologists  in  cross  section 
but  not  enough  JongifudiuaJh/.  The  great  mystics  themselves 
however  and  their  theological  expositors  have  often  looked  at 
the  matter  as  a  unitary  development;  and  recently  a  psycholo- 
gist, Professor  Delacroix  of  Caen,  has  made  an  elaborate  "  longi- 
tudinal "  study  of  the  lives  of  five  great  mystics:  St.  Teresa, 
Mme.  Guyon,  St.  Francois  de  Sales,  St.  John  of  the  Cross,  and 
Siiso.  His  conclusion  is  that  the  three  phases  of  the  mystic 
experience  to  which  I  have  referred  arise  in  a  certain  order  of 
development  according  to  a  regular  law ;  that  the  life  of  the 
mvstic  is  not  so  well  described  bv  the  word  oscillation  as  bv  the 
word  systemafizaticm^^ 
f  The  mystic  begins,  according  to  Delacroix,  with  the  desire 
for  the  ecstasy  and  finally  attains  it.  In  this  stage  he  experi- 
V  ences  a  new  and  very  intense  joy  which  for  a  time  seems  worth 

(  »  P.  189.  From  what  has  been  said  it  is  evident  that  two  distinct  types 
of  rhythm  are  to  be  found  in  the  experience  of  many  mystics  —  (\)  that 
of  ecstasy  and  dryness,  (2)  that  of  contemplation  and  action.  The  first 
of  these  is  plainly  undesirable,  usually  pathological,  and  probably  un- 
necessary. The  second  is  both  natural  and  necessary  in  any  fully  rounded 
I  life,  whethe"  mystical  or  not.  ;  Hockinp  who  discusses  the  second  of  these 
rhythms  yery  admirably  seoms  to  regard  his  position  as  incompatible  with 
that  of  Delacroix.  The  distinction  I  have  indicated  between  the  two  kinds 
of  rh^•thm  does  away,  in  my  opinion,  with  any  real  divergence  between 
these  two  most  sympathetic  interpreters  of  mysticism;  for  they  are  dis- 
cussing different  things.  See  Delacroix,  "  Etudes  d'Histoire  et  de  Psy- 
chologie  du  Mysticisme,"  Chapters  II,  VI,  XI;  and  Hocking's  "The  Mean- 
ing of  God  in  Human  Experience,"  pp.  392-97. 
10  Op.  cit.,  p.  424. 


THE  MYSTIC  LIFE  435 

while  in  itself.  The  ecstatic  condition,  however,  even  when  A 
no  painful  periods  intervene  between  the  ecstasies,  has  its  de- 
fects. In  the  first  place  if  pursued  for  its  own  sake  it  becomes 
mere  religious  indulgence ;  God  is  enjoyed  for  the  sake  of  the 
self.  Secondly  it  induces  a  feeling  of  self-confidence  and  mag- 
nifies the  personal  self  through  the  intimacy  with  God  which  it 
seems  to  bring  about.  And  thirdly  if  cultivated  exclusively  it 
results  in  inactivity  toward  the  outer  world,  the  mystic's  thought 
and  action  (so  far  as  he  is  active)  being  centered  on  continuing 
his  own  ecstatic  delights.  The  great  mystics  themselves  have 
seen  these  defects  and  have,  therefore,  not  regarded  the  cstasy 
as  the  culmination  of  mysticism.  Hence  in  their  view  the 
period  of  dryness  and  sorrow  which  often  follows  the  period  of 
ecstatic  joy  has  an  important  though  negative  function,  namely, 
to  counteract  the  defects  of  the  first  stage.  By  means  of  the 
suffering  and  disappointment  which  the  mystic  goes  through, 
the  self-centerdness  of  the  first  period  is  effectively  destroyed, 
and  the  mystic  is  filled  with  a  dominating  intuition  of  personal 
worthlessness.  This  period  of  dryness,  Delacroix  points  out, 
is  doubtless  due  to  physiological  and  psychological  causes,  but 
it  is  used  by  the  mystic  for  his  own  moral  advancement.  And 
when  at  last  his  little  self,  with  its  interests  and  joys  have  been 
killed  out,  the  mystic  finds  himself  entering  into  a  new  and 
final  period,  filled  with  a  joy  of  its  own,  in  which  the  personal 
consciousness  is  lost  and  his  actions  are  guided  by  a  power  which 
he  cannot  recognize  as  his  own  will  —  in  short  the  '^  transform- 
ing union  "  or  "  spiritual  marriage  ''  of  St.  Teresa's  account. 
When  this  stage  is  reached  the  mystic  looks  back  on  his  long 
course  and  understands  it  all  at  last.  He  has  now  the  key 
to  his  former  sufferings,  he  sees  why  it  was  all  necessary,  and  . 
he  interprets  the  whole  process  in  the  light  of  its  final  term.^^ 
The  three  periods  thus  form  (although  Delacroix  does  not  him- 
self point  this  out)  a  beautiful  example  of  the  Hegelian  triad, 
with  the  simple  joy  of  ecstasy  as  the  thesis,  the  deeper  pain  of 
separation  from  God  and  self-despair  as  the  antithesis,  and  the 
"  apostolic  life  "  of  guided  activity  as  the  synthesis,  in  which 
all  that  was  best  in  the  other  two  is  ''  aufgehoben  " —  taken  up, 
transformed,  glorified. 

This  theory  of  Delacroix's,  excellent  as  it  is,  and  based  as  it 


486  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

is  on  the  views  of  some  of  the  great  mystics  tliemselves,  cannot 
be  accepted  without  some  reserve.  The  dilHculty  with  it  is  that 
it  is  much  too  simple.  The  facts  drawn  from  the  lives  of  the 
majority  of  the  mystics  do  not  bear  it  out.  Particularly  is  this 
the  case  with  the  relation  between  the  first  and  second  periods, 
r'ln  the  lives  of  most  mystics  ecstasy  and  dryness  are  not  periods 
or  stages  that  come  once  each,  but  episodes  which  oscillate  and 
give  place  to  each  other  through  long  years.  They  are  really 
only  the  intensified  states  of  religious  emotion  and  its  opposite 
Lwhich  all  religious  persons  feel.  ,  And  to  say  that  only  those  who 
fill  out  the  formula  are  mysticsor  "  typical  "  mystics  comes  very 
near  to  begging  the  question.  It  must,  however,  be  admitted 
that  a  large  number  of  those  who  are  generally  recognized  as 
the  great  historical  mystics  do  approximate  Delacroix's  triadic 
formula  —  not  indeed  perfectly,  but  still  with  a  fair  amount 
of  exactness.  ^^  We  may,  in  fact,  go  further  and  recognize  this 
fundamental  truth  in  Delacroix's  view:  the  defects  of  ecstasy 
are  those  which  he  points  out;  the  moral  function  of  dryness 
has  been  that  which  he  and  the  mystics  claim  for  it.  More 
important  still,  the  *^  spiritual  marriage "  of  automatically 
guided  activity  (in  those  mystics  who  have  attained  to  it  at  all) 
has  regularly  come  last  and  has  crowned  the  whole,  presup- 
posing to  a  large  degree  both  the  antecedent  stages. 

This  crowning  phase  of  the  mystic  life  is  one  of  the  most 
interesting  things  in  mysticism.  It  is  in  the  eyes  of  the  great 
mystics  themselves  the  supreme  climax  of  the  whole,  the  only 
part  of  their  experience  that  is  worth  while  entirely  for  its  own 
sake.  It  is  moreover  (at  least  if  we  can  trust  their  testimony) 
not  subject  to  any  very  great  change  but  is  essentially  perma- 
nent.^^ It  has,  according  to  Poulain,  three  chief  character- 
istics :  first,  the  permanence  just  referred  to ;  second,  its  trans- 
forming nature,  the  mystic  feeling  that  his  acts  are  not  his  own 
but  God's;  third,  the  continual  vision  of  God  or  sense  of  His 
presence  in  the  midst  of  and  undisturbed  by  great  activity. 

Delacroix,  whose  analvsis  is  much  more  careful  than  Pou- 

11  The  experience  of  Floumoy's  myfitique  modcrne  could  also  with  a  little 
good  will,  be  shown  to  exemplify  Delacroix's  law  fairly  well  —  as  could 
also  the  development  of  Ramakrishna's  mystical  life. 

12  Within  it,  of  course,  the  rhythm  between  contemplation  and  activity  — 
just  as  that  between  sleeping  and  waking  —  continues. 


THE  MYSTIC  LIFE  437 

Iain's  and  is  from  the  psychological,  rather  than  the  theological 
point  of  view,  enumerates  four  ^^  characteristics.  (I  speak  of 
this  as  Delacroix's  analysis,  but  it  is  really,  as  he  shows,  Mme. 
Guyon's).  The  first  characteristic  is  "  the  abolition  of  the  per- 
sonal consciousness  and  the  substitution  for  the  habitual  self  of 
a  more  ample  personality.  Before  there  had  been  a  distinction 
between  self  and  God ;  this  opposition  now  ceases  by  the  aboli- 
tion of  the  self,  which  is  driven  out  by  God.  Before  this  the 
soul  possessed  God  in  certain  states ;  now  it  is  possessed  entirely 
and  forever  by  God."  The  second  characteristic  is  automatism. 
"  For  the  action  guided  by  the  personal  consciousness,  which 
has  its  roots  in  the  individual  and  is  willed,  is  substituted  an 
immediate  and  direct  action,  which  seems  to  be  the  action  of 
God  Himself  and  which  gives  to  the  individual  the  sense  of 
freedom  and  of  infinite  power. ^^  He  no  longer  desires,  because 
he  is  above  all  desires,  because  he  is  no  more  attached  to  the 
objects  of  his  action.  .  .  .  This  feeling  that  it  is  God  who  acts 
assures  the  constant  communion  between  God  and  the  soul." 
The  third  distinguishing  quality  is  a  new  kind  of  joy.  It  is 
something  like  the  joy  of  ecstasy  continued,  but  differs  from  it 
certainly  in  being  only  incidental,  not  essential,  and  probably 
differs  in  certain  other  ways  as  well.  It  is  a  feeling  of  energy 
and  plenitude  and  exuberance,  a  sense  of  a  mission  to  be  ful- 
filled and  the  power  to  fulfill  it.  And  though  it  is  not  sought 
for  itself  —  perhaps  for  that  very  reason  —  it  is  very  intense. 
Mme.  Guyon  says  of  it :  "  It  is  an  immense  but  insensible  joy, 
due  to  the  fact  that  one  fears  nothing,  desires  nothing,  wishes 
nothing."  One  is  not  thinking  about  it  nor  saying,  "  How 
ecstatic  I  am !  ",  because  one  is  not  thinking  of  oneself  at  all. 
It  is  the  direct  result  of  the  loss  of  self,  referred  to  as  the  first 
characteristic  of  the  "  spiritual  marriage."  And  in  this  con- 
nection it  may  be  well  to  point  out  the  similarity  between  the 
Christian  mystic's  experience  in  this  stage  and  that  of  the 
Buddhist  who  has  in  this  life  attained  to  the  destruction  of  de- 
sire, the  annihilation  of  self,  and  the  consequent  joy  of  INTir- 

13  Delacroix  really  enumerates  five,  but  two  of  them  are  hardly  distin- 
guishable. 

1*  Cf .  the  last  stages  of  the  Boddhisattva's  development  according  to 
the  Mahayana  theory;  Suzuki,  op.  cit.,  pp.  322-28. 


438  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

vaiia.^'  Tnilv  "  ^Tis  self  whercbv  we  suffer."  It  would  be  a 
mistake^  however,  to  suppose  that  the  '^  mystic  life  "  is  one  of 
unmixed  happiness.  In  Tauler's  words,  the  state  of  those  who 
are  most  nearly  perfect  ^'  is  one  of  mingled  joy  and  sorrow 
whereby  they  are  tossed  up  and  dovn\ ;  for  the  Holy  Spirit  is 
trying  and  sifting  them  and  preparing  them  for  perfection  with 
two  kinds  of  grief  and  two  kinds  of  joy  and  happiness  which 
they  have  ever  in  their  sight.  .  .  .  Thus  all  his  being  is  swal- 
lowed up  in  sorrow  and  remorse  for  that  he  is  still  laden  with 
his  boundless  infirmity.  But  he  hath  delight  and  joy  in  that 
he  seeth  that  the  goodness  of  God  is  as  great  as  his  necessities, 
so  that  his  life  may  well  be  called  a  dying  life,  by  reason  of  such 
his  griefs  and  joys  which  are  conformable  and  like  unto  the 
Life  of  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  which  from  beginning  to  end 
was  always  made  up  of  mingled  grief  and  joy."  ^^ 

The  fourth  characteristic  of  the  mystic  life,  according  to 
Mme.  Guyon  and  Delacroix,  is  a  seeming  division  within  the 
personality;  a  dissociation  between  the  bodily  and  earthly  hu- 
man self,  and  the  real  self  who  has  become  identified  with  God.^^ 
This  seeming  division  within  the  personality  of  course  varies 
greatly  with  difi'erent  mystics.  Something  like  it  is  seen  in 
many  a  non-mystical  and  perfectly  normal  individual  whose  life 
is  divided  between  the  prosecution  of  some  great  purpose  and  the 
fulfill ino:  of  the  common  duties  of  dailv  life.  And  it  is  almost 
inevitable  that  some  such  doubling  should  occur  in  the  case  of 
one  who  believes  himself  to  catch  occasional  glimpses  into  an- 
other world ;  a  certain  amount  of  absent-mindedness  and  mental 
abstraction  and  temporary  confusion  is  a  natural  result.  The 
description  which  Browning  has  given  us  of  Lazarus's  state  of 
mind  after  he  was  raised  from  the  dead  depicts  so  well  this 
phase  of  the  mystic  consciousness  that  I  shall  quote  a  few 
lines  from  it: 

15  Cf.  Scaramelli'8  enthusiastic  description  of  the  joy  of  the  Spiritual 
Marriage,  op.  cit.,  pp.  88-89,  which  is  strikingly  like  many  a  Buddhist 
description  of  the  joy  of  Arahatship. 

16  From  the  Sermon  on  the  Feast  of  St.  Slephen,  translated  by  A.  W. 
Hutton  in  a  collection  of  Tauler's  sermons  called  "  The  Inner  Way " 
(London,  Methuen:    1909),  pp.   38  and  40. 

17  Delacroix,  op.  cit.,  pp.  142-48. 


THE  MYSTIC  LIFE  439 

"  He  holds  on  firmly  to  some  thread  of  life  — 
(It  is  the  life  to  lead  perforcedly) 
Which  runs  across  some  vast  distracting  orb 
Of  glory  on  either  side  that  meager  thread. 
Which,  conscious  of,  he  must  not  enter  yet  — 
The  spiritual  life  around  the  earthly  life; 
The  law  of  that  is  known  to  him  as  this. 
His  heart  and  brain  move  there,  his  feet  stay  here. 
So  is  the  man  perplexed  with  impulses 
Sudden  to  start  off  crosswise,  not  straight  on, 
Proclaiming  what  is  right  and  wrong  across. 
And  not  along  this  black  thread  through  the  blaze  — 
^  It  should  be '  mocked  by  *  here  it  cannot  be.' " 

The  mystic  thus  lives  in  two  worlds  and  feels  himself  ani-\ 
mated  and  guided  by  two  powers.     "  I  live/'  says  Paul,  "  yet 
not  I,  but  Christ  liveth  in  me."     The  individual  will  is  not  lost 
—  the  man  is  not  in  a  dream  or  trance ;  yet  the  individual  will 
still  present  is  present  only  to  yield  to  what  the  mystic  takes  i 
for  the  divine  will,  which  in  all  matters  dominates  the  life.Ji 
The  two  wills  have  become  so  united  as  to  be  but  one.     This 
union,  says  the  Theologia  Germanica,  "  is  such  that  we  should 
be  purely,  simply,  and  wholly  at  one  with  the  One  Eternal  Will 
of  God,   or  altogether  without  will,   so  that  the  created  will 
should  flow  out  into  the  Eternal  Will,  and  be  swallowed  up  and 
lost  therein,  so  that  the  Eternal  Will  alone  should  do  and  leave 
undone  in  us."  ^^     And  again,  ^'  So  that  every  enlightened  man 
can  say,  ^  I  would  fain  be  to  the  Eternal  Goodness  what  his  own 
hand  is  to  a  man.'  "  ^^ 

The  mystic's  life  is  therefore  from  the  time  of  his  attain- 
ment of  the  "  spiritual  marriage  "  onward  a  life  of  activity ,". 
guided  by  a  power  which  he  cannot  recognize  as  his  own.  This 
"  apostolic  life  "  is  really  only  an  intensification  (sometimes  to 
an  almost  pathological  degree)  of  the  "  led  life  "  which,  as  we 
saw  in  Chapter  XVI,  many  commonplace  Christians  live.  The 
difference  is  a  matter  only  of  degree;  but  the  degrees  are  so 
different  that  with  some  of  the  ffreat  mvstics  action  seems  to  be 
almost  automatic.  According  to  Delacroix's  theory,  their  ac- [ 
tion  is  guided  not  by  the  conscious  will  but  by  the  subconscious 

18  P.  98. 

19  Ibid.,  p.  32. 


440  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

\  forces  of  the  paycho-pliysical  organism.  This  does  not  make 
their  action  any  the  less  intelligent  or  purposive.  It  is  in  a 
sense  impulsive, —  that  is  the  force  comes  a  tergo  —  but  it  is 
still  purposive;  and  this  purposiveness  makes  it  different  from 
the  impulses  studied  hy  the  aliensists. 

Of  course  there  is  sometimes  an  irrational  element  in  the 
actions  of  the  mystic  —  as  he  himself  plainly  sees  and  whicl\ 
he  attributes  to  the  impulsions  of  the  devil.  But  his  action  as 
a  whole,  though  guided  by  habitual  and  in  part  subconscious 
forces,  is,  as  I  have  said,  essentially  rational,  purposive,  and 
moral.  If  we  accept  Delacroix's  theory  of  subconscious  guid- 
ance (and  with  a  certain  amount  of  toning  do^vn  we  shall,  I 
think,  be  justified  in  so  doing  *'^),  we  can  understand  why  the 
mystic's  life  should  be  on  so  high  a  plane.  In  the  first  place 
the  subconscious  nature  of  the  mystic  is  by  no  means  the  same 
as  that  of  all  other  men,  good  and  bad.  His  is  essentially  and 
bv  nature  a  moral  subconsciousness.     That  is  what  we  mean 

« 

when  we  speak  of  a  man  who  is  naturally  good :  his  unguided 
impulses  and  actions  are  on  the  whole  of  the  right  sort.  Es- 
pecially is  this  true  of  the  intense  religious  natures  of  the  mys- 
tics who  (as  a  rule)  from  their  childhood  have  loved  virtue. 
And  secondly  the  mystic's  is  a  trained  subconsciousness.  It 
has  been  trained  in  the  first  place  by  the  long  years  of  his 

20  It  is  highly  questionable  whether  the  facts  justify  bo  large  a  use  of 
the  Bulx-onscious  as  Delacroix  would  have  us  believe.  A  large  part  of  the 
"  apostolic  life "  requires  no  more  recondite  explanation  than  does  the 
activity  of  many  a  good  man  of  settled  character  who  is  under  the  con- 
viction that  he  is  the  subject  of  divine  guidance;  but  Delacroix  at  least 
implies  that  the  subconsciousness  of  the  mystic  is  decidedly  diflferent  from 
what  one  finds  in  "normal"  persons.  By  looking  for  some  unusual  ex- 
planation of  the  facts  of  the  mystic  life  and  thereby  admitting  that  they 
belong  to  a  category  different  from  that  of  ordinary  living  Delacroix  has 
opened  himself  to  the  accusation  which  Pacheu  brings  against  him,  that 
he  has  manufactured  a  subconscious  ad  hoc,  in  order  to  explain  facta 
which  would  otherwise  demand  a  supernatural  explanation,  and  that  the 
subconscious  which  he  has  devised  is  one  which  psychology'  has  seldom 
if  ever  come  across  elsewhere.  (See  "  L'Experience  Mystique,"  pp.  75-85, 
285-06.)  We  shall,  however,  be  justified  in  using  the  word  subconscious 
in  dealing  with  the  mystic  life  if  we  mean  by  it  no  more  than  what  we 
find  in  the  life  of  every  man  of  settled  character,  whose  actions  are  guided 
largely  by  unconscious  forces,  whose  psycho-physical  mechanism  is  so  pre- 
disposed in  all  habitual  situations  that  he  finds  most  decisions  already 
made  in  advance  and  feels  himself  to  be  carrying  out  some  unitary  life 
plan. 


THE  MYSTIC  LIFE  441 

social  education.  Society  sees  to  it  that  the  wilder  and  more 
indecent  parts  in  the  subconscious  natures  of  us  all  are  consid- 
erably subdued  and  tamed.  The  subconscious  is  constantly 
being  influenced  by  the  conscious  personality  as  this  reflects  the 
demands  and  conventions  of  society.  And,  as  Professor  Coe 
has  pointed  out,^^  the  subconscious  is  essentially  conservative, 
and  hence  often  acts  as  a  storehouse  for  the  generally  accepted 
moral  precepts  of  the  community  and  uses  them  in  restraint 
of  the  non-social  desires  of  the  individual.  Furthermore,  the 
mystic  has  taken  particular  pains  through  years  of  ascetic  dis- 
cipline to  remold  his  subconsciousness  (though  he  himself  has 
never  heard  the  term),  and  kill  out  from  it  all  that  he  regards 
as  evil.  It  is  not  surprising  then  that  the  automatically  guided 
life  of  the  mystic  in  this  final  stage  should  be  essentially  moral 
from  the  objective  and  conventional  point  of  view.^^  So  far 
indeed  so  good.  Whether  everything  is  explained  by  the  use 
of  the  word  ''  subconscious  "  is  not  so  certain. 

It  must  not  be  supposed  from  the  last  pages  that  all  the  mys- 
tics are  active.  Most  of  them  never  reach  the  heights  of  the 
"  spiritual  marriage,"  and  many  of  them  prefer  to  remain  in 
the  first  stage  and  suck  its  sweetness.  Yet  though  this  is  the 
case  it  still  is  true  that  activity  forms  an  important  part  of  the 
life  of  many  of  the  greater  Christian  mystics.  Moral  earnest- 
ness and  unselfish  ardor  for  righteousness  have  been  almost  as 
characteristic  of  them  as  is  the  iov  of  ecstasv.^^  Whether  the 
ecstatic  experience  and  the  other  features  of  the  extreme  sort 
of  mysticism  are  a  help  or  hindrance  in  the  life  of  active  service, 
whether  the  saints  have  been  strenuous  soldiers  in  the  cause 
of  righteousness  because  of  or  in  spite  of  their  ecstasies,  is  a 
question  for  which  there  has  been  no  place  even  in  these  three 
long  chapters. 

21  "  The  Mystical  as  a  Psychological  Concept,"  Journal  of  Philosophy, 
VI,  201. 

22  Whether  semi-automatic  conduct  (such  as  that  of  Mme.  Guyon  in 
her  stage  of  "Apostolic  life")  can  be  truly  called  moral  from  the  sub- 
jective point  of  view,  is  another  question. 

23  It  must,  however,  be  remembered  that  it  is  the  ecstasy,  not  the  ac- 
tivity, which  singles  them  out  as  mystics. 


CHAPTER  XX 

THE    PLACE    AND    VALUE    OF    MYSTICISM 

In  the  four  preceding  chapters  I  have  tried  to  give  a  just 
description  of  mysticism  as  a  psychological  phenomenon.  The 
description  has  necessarily  been  long,  and,  I  fear,  rather  weari- 
some, and  to  avoid  making  it  still  longer  1  have  had  to  leave 
out  of  account  several  related  questions  which  naturally  present 
themselves  in  this  connection.  The  present  chapter  will,  there- 
fore, be  devoted  to  the  more  important  of  these  problems, — 
nearly  all  of  which  are  concerned  with  the  value  of  mysticism 
and  its  place  in  religion  and  in  life.  As  a  preliminary  to  this 
question,  the  origin  or  source  of  the  individual's  mystical  ex- 
perience naturally  presents  itself  for  our  consideration.  For  if 
its  source  be  what  some  think  it,  this  would  have  an  important, 
if  not  a  decisive,  bearing  on  the  question  of  its  value. 

In  general  it  may  be  said  that  there  are  three  leading  views 
as  to  the  origin  and  nature  of  the  mystic  revelation.  The  first 
of  these  appeals  frankly  to  the  Supernatural.  This  is,  of 
course,  the  view  held  by  the  Roman  Catholic  Church  and  the 
many  learned  writers  on  mysticism  who  represent  it.  More 
important  still,  this  is  the  view  of  most  of  the  mystics  them- 
selves. In  the  ecstasv,  sav  thev,  the  soul  comes  face  to  face 
with  God  and  receives  from  God  revelations,  comfortings,  as- 
sistance which  it  can  carry  back  into  the  world  for  the  help  of 
all  the  faithful.  This  hypothesis  is  usually  based  upon  a  dual- 
istic  view  of  the  universe  as  consisting  of  the  two  realms  of  !N"a- 
ture  and  of  Grace,  each  with  its  own  laws ;  and  the  contact  of 
the  soul  with  the  Supernatural  realm  in  the  mystic  union  is  re- 
garded as  more  or  less  miraculous.^ 

Opposed  to  this  view  is  the  completely  naturalistic  interpre- 

1  For  a  serious  attempt  to  present  this  view  in  scientific  fashion  see 
A.  B,  Sharpe's  "Mysticism.  Its  True  Nature  and  Value"  (London, 
Sands:  1010),  especially  pp.  1-60,  113-21.  Pacheu  takes  the  same  view 
in  "  L'Experience  Mystique  "  but  realizes  fully  that  there  is  no  room  for 
ultimate  explanation  within  psycho! ocy. 

442 


THE  PLACE  AXD  VALUE  OF  MYSTICISM      443 

tation.  This  either  denies  altogether  the  existence  of  any 
supernatural  realm,  or  if  it  admits  its  possibility,  insists  that 
it  is  quite  separate  from  nature  and  must  be  kept  strictly  apart 
from  it  in  our  thought ;  the  Supernatural  never  interferes  with 
the  natural,  hence  to  explain  the  latter  we  must  confine  our 
hypotheses  entirely  to  it.  Mysticism,  therefore,  like  every- 
thing else,  is  to  be  accounted  for  solely  by  the  laws  of  a  scientific 
psychology,  and  its  source  is  to  be  sought  in  the  individual  mind 
and  in  society.  Imitation,  social  education,  and  individual 
suggestion  furnish  a  quite  sufficient  explanation  for  all  the 
phenomena  of  mysticism. 

Midway  between  these  opposing  explanations  stands  the  third 
view,  which  seeks,  in  a  sense,  a  compromise  or  combination  of 
the  two.  J^atural  law  everywhere  holds ;  but  what  we  formerly 
knew  as  the  Supernatural  is  not  ruled  out,  because  it  is  really 
a  part  of  nature.  In  other  words,  the  dualism  which  both  the 
other  views  accepted  (so  far  as  they  admitted  anything  besides 
"  this  world  ")  it  rejects,  and  hence  it  is  able  to  maintain  that 
if  explanation  is  forced  to  look  beyond  "  this  world  "  of  "  'Na.^ 
ture,"  that  does  not  imply  a  miracle.  What  the  theologians 
call  the  Supernatural  is  merely  more  of  the  natural, —  a  farther 
part  of  it  about  which,  indeed,  we  know  little,  but  which  we 
conceivably  might  come  to  know  in  the  same  way  that  we  now 
know  this  part.  For  the  supposition  is  that  in  that  case  we 
should  find  it  too  a  world  of  laws,  and  that  its  laws  are  in 
some  ways  related  to  and  continuous  with  those  laws  of  nature 
which  we  already  know.  There  is  then,  according  to  this  view, 
really  no  supernatural ;  there  is  merely  an  as  yet  Unknown, — 
an  Unknown  which  it  would  be  cowardice  to  call  an  Unknow- 
able. The  upholders  of  this  general  view  do  not  fully  agree 
as  to  details  —  in  fact  none  of  them  has  tried  as  yet  to  work 
the  theory  out  into  particulars.  But  it  may  in  general  be 
said  that  they  find,  or  hope  to  find,  a  bridge  between  the  kno^vn 
and  the  unknoT\Ti  parts  of  reality  in  the  constitution  of  the 
mind  and  the  laws  of  its  workings.  Boutroux  puts  the  sugges- 
tion (for  with  him,  as  with  most  of  those  who  propose  it,  it  is 
as  yet  only  a  suggestion)  in  this  way : 

"  Is  there  for  us,  as  conscious  beings,  besides  the  individual 
life,  a  universal  life,  potential  and  already  in  some  measure 


444  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

real  ?  Is  our  reflective  and  individual  consciousness,  according 
to  which  we  are  external  to  one  another,  an  absolute  reality  or 
a  simple  phenomenon  under  which  is  concealed  the  universal 
interpenetration  of  souls  within  a  unifying  principle?"' 

Miss  Undorhill,  whose  position  is  not  unlike  that  of  Boutroux, 
is  more  explicit,  or  at  least  more  detailed.  A  large  part  of  her 
arirument  in  favor  of  the  view  that  the  mystics  are  in  direct 
touch  with  Reality,  consists  in  an  attempt  to  break  do^vn  the 
naive  confidence  in  common  sense  and  natural  science.  Neither 
of  these,  she  insists,  though  they  be  practically  useful  as  guides 
to  action,  can  give  us  any  true  insight  into  the  nature  of  the 
real.  Sensuous  knowledge  is  always  relative,  and  scientific 
knowledge  is  merely  symbolic.^  For  conventional  and  practi- 
cal purposes  we  have  agreed  to  put  tags  upon  reality,  and  these) 
tags  we  take  for  the  thir»Q:s  they  should  merely  signify.  "  It 
is  notorious  that  the  operations  of  the  average  human  conscious- 
ness unite  the  self,  not  with  things  as  they  really  are,  but  with 
images,  notions,  aspects  of  things.  The  verb  ^  to  be,'  which  he 
uses  so  lightly,  does  not  truly  apply  to  any  of  the  objects  amongst 
which  the  practical  man  supposes  himself  to  dwell."  "  Because 
mystery  is  horrible  to  us,  we  have  agreed  for  the  most  part 
to  live  in  a  world  of  labels."  *  Thus  we  make  realitv  over  in 
conventional  form,  according  to  our  practical  needs  and  the 
artificial  categories  of  language ;  and  these  conventions  we  take 
for  reality.  Even  the  practical  man,  however,  occasionally  has 
glimpses  or  intuitions  of  the  Reality  behind  the  sense  world. 
To  the  mystic  these  intuitions  are  habitual.  He  lives  in  the 
direct  apprehension  of  this  "  One  Reality,"  since  he  perceives 
that  the  sense  world  is  only  s^Tubolic  of  It.  He  alone  lives  in 
close  touch  with  Reality  and  when  he  speaks  he  gives  us  not 
conventions  but  immediacy.  There  is,  then,  no  dualism  of  Na- 
tural and  Supernatural.  Nothing,  in  Miss  Underbill's  opinion, 
is  more  profoundly  natural  than  mysticism  ;  and  her  world  is  too 
completely  monistic  to  admit  of  any  such  rift  as  that  implied  in 
the  naive  doctrine  which  would  divide  it  into  two  realms.     If 

2 "  The  Psychology  of  Mysticism,"  hiternat.  Jour,  of  Ethics,  XVIII, 
194.  Eucken's  position  is  not  dissimilar.  See,  eg.,  his  "  Meaning  and 
Value  of  Life"   (Tvondon,  Black:    1010),  p.  70fT. 

3  See  her  "  Mysticism,"  Chap.  I. 

*"  Practical  Mysticism"   (New  York,  Dutton:  1915),  pp.  5  and  7. 


THE  PLACE  AND  VALUE  OF  MYSTICISM      446 

dualism  there  be  it  is  a  dualism  of  the  real  and  the  conven- 
tional. 

Professor  James's  point  of  view  is  naturally  very  different 
from  that  of  Miss  Underhill;  yet  his  conclusions  are  in  many 
ways  similar  to  hers.  Mystical  states,  he  suggests,  may  be 
"  windows  through  which  the  mind  looks  out  upon  a  more  ex- 
tensive and  inclusive  world."  Through  the  doorAvay  of  the  sub- 
conscious, in  his  opinion^  the  mystic  comes  into  touch  with  "  an 
altogether  other  dimension  of  existence  "  in  which  most  of  our 
ideals  originate.^  This  view  is  James's  "^  over-belief  ^'  merely; 
neither  he  nor  any  other  really  scientific  upholder  of  it  would 
as  yet  regard  it  as  anything  more  than  a  working  hypothesis. 

In  seeking  to  decide  between  these  three  explanations  of  mys- 
ticism —  the  supernatural,  the  naturalistic,  and  the  reconciling 
position  of  Boutroux,  Underhill,  and  James  —  we  must  first 
make  up  our  minds  whether  we  really  wish,  so  far  as  possible, 
to  stick  to  science.  For  our  attitude  toward  the  first  of  the 
three  hypotheses  at  least  will  be  largely,  if  not  entirely,  deter- 
mined by  our  answer  to  this  question.  'Not  that  science  dog- 
matically denies  the  existence  of  the  Supernatural.  It  neither 
knows  nor  pretends  to  know  anything  about  this.  It  merely 
points  out  that  if  the  Supernatural  can  and  does  interfere  with 
the  natural  then  there  is,  at  the  spot  where  the  interference  takes 
place,  no  longer  any  room  for  science.  If  the  supematuralists 
are  right  in  maintaining  miraculous  breaks  in  natural  law,  sci- 
ence must,  at  the  very  least,  modify  her  pretensions,  and  speak 
no  longer  in  universal  terms  but  in  the  more  modest  diction  of 
mere  probability,  imitating  mathematics  hardly  more  than  his- 
tory. 

It  would  seem  only  just  for  every  one  who  is  pursuing  an  in- 
vestigation in  any  sense  scientific  to  make  up  his  mind  at  the 
start  to  give  science  a  fair  chance ;  to  let  it  explain  the  facts  in 
question  if  it  can,  and  to  accept  its  explanations  if  they  do  ex- 
plain. A  scientific  "  law,"  like  a  political  law,  if  really  deserv- 
ing of  being  discarded,  can  best  be  proved  so  by  strict  enforce- 

5 "  The  Varieties  of  Religious  Experience,"  pp.  428,  515f.  Here  also 
should  be  mentioned  James's  last  suggestion  on  the  subject,  namely  that 
in  the  mystic  revelation  the  threshold  of  consciousness  is  lowered,  and  what 
is  usually  in  the  subconscious  region  comes  suddenly  into  full  conscious- 
ness.—  Jour,  of  Phil.,  VII,  85-92. 


44G  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

raent.  Nor  should  one  easily  be  driven,  by  the  temporary 
failure  of  science,  into  the  arms  of  the  Supernatural  —  *'  that 
refuge  of  ignorance,"  as  Spinoza  calls  it.  And  so  great  have 
been  the  achievements  of  science  in  the  past,  so  repeatedly  has 
she  brought  forward  explanations  of  the  seemingly  inexplicable 
for  those  who  waited  patiently  upon  her,  that  the  burden  of 
proof  is  certainly  on  those  who  would  urge  us  to  flee  to  the 
Supernatural, —  the  burden,  namely,  of  showing  us  that  no 
scientific  explanation  is  possible. 

If  we  accept  this  point  of  view  —  and  the  very  undertaking 
to  study  religious  psychology  forces  it  upon  us  —  we  shall  find 
our  attitude  toward  the  supernatural  explanation  of  mysticism 
already  settled.  For  certainly  the  facts  of  mysticism  are  not 
such  as  to  drive  us  out  of  the  realm  of  all  possible  scientific 
knowledge.  There  is  nothing,  surely,  in  the  mystic's  revelation 
or  experience  so  striking  or  extraordinary  as  to  lead  us  to  despair 
of  ever  understanding  them  by  the  laws  of  the  human  mind. 
To  say  this  is  not  to  deny  the  Supernatural.  It  may  indeed 
exist  outside  of  nature ;  or,  as  the  Absolute,  it  may  include 
all  nature.  The  laws  -which  science  knows  may  be  only  the 
Absolute's  thoughts,  or  God's  ways  of  doing  things.  But  super- 
natural interference  cannot  be  introduced  into  the  chain  of 
natural  law  and  substituted  for  one  or  more  of  its  links  to 
account  for  phenomena.  The  Absolute  may  explain  everything j 
it  cannot  explain  anything  in  particular. 

Nor  can  Miss  Underbill's  view  of  mysticism  be  fully  recon- 
ciled with  the  strictly  scientific  attitude.  The  "  One  Reality  " 
which,  according  to  her,  is  directly  apprehended  by  the  mystic, 
is,  after  all,  apprehended  by  means  of  the  mystic's  interpretation 
of  his  experience,  or  through  a  symbolic  rendering  of  sense  per- 
ception. The  emotions,  visions,  beliefs,  apprehensions  of  the 
mystic  are  not  themselves  the  "  Real  " ;  they  merely  point  to- 
ward or  indicate  it,  and  they,  not  It,  are  the  objects  which  a 
scientific  psychology  must  study.  Miss  Underbill  may  be  right 
in  her  view  that  they  are  good  evidence  of  an  encircling  spir- 
itual world ;  but  this  hypothetical  encircling  world  is  not  an 
object  for  psychology.  The  mystic  experience  is  perhaps  one 
end  of  a  chain  which  binds  the  human  consciousness  to  the  di- 
vine :  but  science,  in  the  nature  of  the  case,  can  never  get  beyond 


THE  PLACE  AND  VALUE  OF  MYSTICISM      447 

this  end.  The  "  Presence  ^'  which  the  mystics  claim  to  appre- 
hend is,  on  their  own  showing,  of  such  an  indefinite,  incom- 
municable, "  ineffable  "  a  nature  as  to  preclude  it  from  being 
seriously  considered  as  a  scientific  object;  while  their  reiterated 
insistence  that  the  mystical  experience  is  unrepeatable  through 
any  discoverable  devices  makes  it  impossible  to  verify  their  as- 
sertions concerning  the  objectivity  of  this  "  Presence,"  and 
hence  prevents  us  from  regarding  its  existence  as  a  scientific 
factc^  'Nor  does  Miss  Underhill's  critique  of  scientific  cate- 
gories and  common  sense  terms  make  her  own  symbolic  inter- 
pretation of  the  given  world  any  more  trustworthy.  If  conven- 
tional thought  is  at  fault  in  putting  "  labels  "  on  things,  is  mys- 
ticism therefore  any  nearer  the  truth  by  substituting  symbols  ? 
Is  it  questionable  whether  symbolism  is  much  truer  to  the  im- 
mediacv  of  fact  than  is  the  much  reviled  common  sense.  The 
truth  is,  we  all  reconstruct  our  world  out  of  the  materials  of 
mere  immediacy  —  all  of  us,  at  least,  but  the  invertebrates. 
The  mystic  is  no  exception.  Much  that  is  indubitably  real  he 
leaves  out  of  his  account  because  he  fails  to  find  it  interesting, 
while,  on  the  other  hand,  he  reads  into  it  much  that  no  mere 
immediacy  could  possibly  give.  He  differs  from  the  plain  man, 
not  by  refusing  to  reconstruct  his  world,  but  in  the  manner  of 
his  reconstruction;  substituting  some  theological  conception  or, 
it  may  be,  the  poetical  imagination  and  its  symbols,  for  the 
principle  of  utility  and  its  labels. —  Not  that  this  is  the  only 
difference  between  him  and  the  plain  man.  Equally  important 
with  this  contrast  in  the  method  of  remaking  the  world  of  mere 
immediacy,  is  the  fact  that  the  mystic  has  experiences  which  the 
non-mystical  never  shares.  But  that  these  experiences  are  ex- 
periences of  the  "  One  Reality "  is  an  hypothesis  which  no 
amount  of  immediacy  can  ever  verify,  and  which,  even  if  per- 
fectlv  true,  can  never  be  a  fact  of  science.''^ 

6  I  have  expounded  this  view  more  fully  in  a  paper  entitled  "  Can  Tlie- 
ologry  Be  Made  an  Empirical  Science?"  in  the  Am.  Jour,  of  Theol.  for 
April,   1920. 

7  I  have  said  nothinpr  of  Miss  Underhill's  hypothesis  of  a  "  mystic  sense," 
which,  though  it  has  "  attachments  to  emotion,  to  intellect,  and  to  will," 
"differs  from  and  transcends  the  emotional,  intellectual,  and  volitional 
life  of  ordinary  men."  I  say  nothing  of  it  in  part  because  Miss  Under- 
bill herself  seems  to  be  utterly  uncertain  as  to  what  she  means  by  it.  So 
far  as  she  uses  it  to  mean  a  heightening  of  the  ordinary  mental  powers, 


448  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

Criticism  of  this  g^cnenil  nature  does  not  at  first  seem  ap- 
plicablo  to  tlie  niodiafiiiij:  view  of  James  and  his  followers  who 
appeal  only  to  natural  laws.  A  more  detailed  study  of  the  facts 
on  which  this  view  is  based  is  requisite  before  we  can  form 
an  enli/;ht<*ued  j\id^iont  upon  it.  Such  a  study  is  to  be 
found  in  James's  "  Varieties  of  Religious  Experience " — 
particularly  in  the  Lectures  on  Mysticism  and  in  his  "  Conclu- 
sions." Tames  points,  namely,  to  the  sense  of  indubitable  au- 
thority and  inrmediate  certainty  of  the  mystic  intuition,  and  to 
the  unanimity  with  which  the  mystics  of  all  lands  testify  to  the 
common  mvstic  creed.  This  mvstic  creed  is  the  belief,  or 
the  immediate  sense,  that  "  the  limits  of  the  individual  self 
are  transcended  through  some  kind  of  mingling  in,  or  other 
realization  of,  a  larger  world  of  the  spiritual  order;  that  this 
larger  reality  is  good,  and  that  in  it  the  contradictions  and  the 
mvsterv  of  existence  are  solved."  ^  Or,  in  James's  own  words, 
mystical  states  "  break  down  the  authority  of  the  non-mvstical 
or  rationalistic  consciousness,  based  upon  the  understanding 
and  the  senses  alone.  They  show  it  to  be  only  one  kind  of  con- 
sciousness.  They  open  up  the  possibility  of  other  orders  of 
truth,  in  which,  so  far  as  anything  in  us  vitally  responds  to 
them,  we  may  freelv  continue  to  have  faith."  ®  The  rclisrious 
man  with  a  touch  of  mysticism  ^'  becomes  conscious  that  the 
higher  part  of  him  is  conterminous  and  continuous  with  a 
MORE  of  the  same  quality  which  is  operative  in  the  universe 
outside  of  him,  and  which  he  can  keep  in  working  touch  with, 
and  in  a  fashion  get  on  board  of  and  save  himself  when  all  his 
lower  being  has  gone  to  pieces  in  the  wreck.  .  .  .  Let  me  pro- 
pose that,  whatever  it  may  be  on  its  farther  side,  the  '  more,' 
with  which  in  religious  experience  we  feel  ourselves  connected, 
is  on  its  hither  side  the  subconscious  continuation  of  our  con- 
scious life.  .  .  .  Disregarding  the  over-beliefs,  and  confining 
ourselves  to  what  is  common  and  generic,  we  have  in  the  fact 
that  the  conscious  person  is  continuous  with  a  wider  self  through 

there  is  nothing  to  be  said;  so  far  as  she  means  by  it  literally  a  diflFerent 
and  special  faculty,  I  need  hardly  point  out  that  psychology  knows  abso- 
lutely nothing  about  it. 

8  Coe's  formulation  of  James's  conclusion  — "  The  Sources  of  the  Mystic 
Revelation,"  Hihhert  Journal,  VI,  360. 

»  The  "  Varieties,"  p.  423. 


THE  PLACE  AiS^D  VALUE  OF  MYSTICISM      449 

which  saving  experiences  come,  a  positive  content  of  religions 
experience  which,  it  seems  to  me,  is  literally  and  objectively 
true  as  far  as  it  goes."  ^^ 

As  I  said  above.  Professor  James's  own  "  over-belief,"  or 
working  hypothesis,  is  that  the  farther  side  of  the  "  MORE  " 
is  the  spiritual  world  with  which  the  mystics  insist  they  have 
come  in  contact  in  trance  and  similar  states  of  non-rational  con- 
sciousness. Such  an  interpretation  James  regards  not  as  demon- 
strated, indeed,  but  as,  all  things  considered,  more  reasonable 
and  more  consistent  with  the  facts  of  experience  than  is  the 
purely  naturalistic  explanation. 

Perhaps  the  most  systematic  critique  of  this  view  is  to  be 
found  in  a  paper  by  Professor  Coe  which  appeared  in  the  Ilib- 
hert  Journal  for  January,  1908,  under  the  title,  "  The  Sources 
of  the  Mystical  Revelation."  ^^  The  seeming  unanimity  of  the 
mystics  to  which  James  appeals  is  due,  according  to  Professor 
Coe,  to  the  fact  that  the  cases  used  in  the  "  Varieties  "  are 
selected,  and  selected  almost  necessarily  from  those  individuals 
who  are  most  suggestible.  The  very  conditions  of  trance,  more- 
over, are  such  as  to  explain,  in  perfectly  natural  and  naturalistic 
fashion,  the  content  of  the  mystic  revelation.  ^^  The  typical 
mystical  process,  which  culminates  in  trance,  is,  formally  con- 
sidered, nothing  else  than  partial  or  complete  hypnosis.  .  .  . 
Therefore  the  most  direct  method  of  examining  the  formal  con- 
ditions that  now  interest  us  is  to  make  the  experiment  of  self- 
hypnosis."  The  characteristics  of  such  an  experiment  when 
tried,  with  no  religious  ideas  in  mind,  were  found  to  be  the 
following :  "  First,  the  bodily  sensations  were  modified.  A 
sense  of  strangeness  came  on,  and  it  increased  until  the  mind 
seemed  to  be  there  rather  than  here  —  alive,  vet  not  ^  mine '  in 
the  old  intimate  wav.  .  .  .  Second,  the  self-feelins:  underwent 
an  equally  marked  change.  It  seemed  as  if  the  self  melted  into 
its  object,  or  as  if  two  fluids  were  poured  together.  The  result 
was  like  a  generalization  without  particulars,  or  a  sort  of  pure 
being.     Attention  had  been  narrowed  to  such  a   degree  that 

10  Pp.  508,  512,  515.  A  similar  view,  largely  adapted  from  James,  is  to 
be  found  in  Dr.  C.  M.  Addison's  "  The  Theory  and  Practice  of  Mysticism  " 
(New  York,  Button:   1018),  pp.  88-101. 

11  Cf.  also  Leuba  on  "  Professor  James'  Interpretation  of  Religious  Ex- 
perience," Int.  Jour,  of  Ethics,  XIV   (1904),  322-39. 


450  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

the  usual  contrasts  and  antitheses  by  means  of  which  we  define 
our  worhl  had  grown  dim.  Consciousness  was  absorbed,  as  it 
were,  in  the  bright  object  at  which  the  eyes  gazed,  and  this 
one  object  seemed  somehow  to  become  a  One-All,  at  once  subject 
and  object,  and  yet  neither  one.  Here  is  a  counterpart  of  the 
absorption  into  deity  of  which  mystical  saints  speak,  a  parallel 
to  the  realization  of  a  larger  life  continuous  with  our  own  and  of 
the  same  quality,  of  which  Professor  James  speaks.  .  .  .  Third, 
the  feeling-tone  of  the  whole  was  agreeable.  ...  It  is  indeed 
obvious  that  muscular  relaxation  was  in  this  case  a  chief  ground 
of  the  agreeable  feeling-tone.  Moreover,  it  is  easy  to  see  how, 
from  this  beginning,  if  religious  auto-suggestion  had  been  ac- 
tive, or  even  if  the  strange  experiences  of  the  hour  had  been  met 
with  naive  wonder  instead  of  scientific  coldness,  pleasurable 
motion  of  any  degree  of  intensity  might  have  developed.  Here, 
evidently,  is  the  root  of  the  mystical  feeling  of  attainment,  of 
the  resolution  of  discords,  of  the  goodness  of  the  All. 

"  In  short,  the  mystical  revelation  can  be  traced  down  to  the 
formal  conditions,  physiological  and  psychological,  of  the  mystic 
himself.  .  .  .  The  mystic  acquires  his  religious  convictions  pre- 
cisely as  his  non-mystical  neighbor  does,  namely  through  tra- 
dition and  instruction  grown  habitual,  and  reflective  analysis. 
The  mystic  brings  his  theological  beliefs  to  the  mystical  ex- 
perience; he  does  not  derive  them  from  it."  ^^ 

This  last  sentence  is  especially  well  put.  The  particular  the- 
ological beliefs  which  the  mvstic  carries  awav  from  his  trance 
he  first  brings  to  it,  usually  in  the  form  of  dogmas  explicitly 
held,  sometimes  as  ideas  up  to  that  time  buried  in  the  uncon- 
scious or  subconscious  regions  of  his  mind.  The  former  of 
these  are  simply  glorified  and  reinforced  by  the  emotion  of  be- 
lief through  the  intense  joy  of  the  trance ;  while  the  latter,  never 
having  been  held  consciously  by  the  mystic,  seem  to  him  obvious 
revelations.  And  certainly,  now  that  we  have  learned  from  the 
investigations  of  Freud,  Prince,  Sidis,  and  others  how  much 
may  come  into  the  subconscious  through  the  regular  door  of 
the  every-day  consciousness  and  remain  there  for  years  without 
its  presence  being  suspected,  we  should  hardly  be  justified  in 
seeking  to  explain  the  particular  deliverances  of  the  mystic 

12  Op.  cit.,  pp.  364,  365,  366,  367. 


THE  PLAGE  AOT)  VALUE  OF  MYSTICISM      451 

trance  as  due  to  anything  else  than  social  education  and  sug- 
gestion. 

I  am  not  sure  that  the  general  sense  of  presence,  which  we 
may  perhaps  regard  as  the  peculiar  characteristic  of  all  mysti- 
cism, is  to  be  so  easily  accounted  for.  Professor  Coe's  analysis 
of  the  trance  form,  which  proved  so  useful  in  explaining  the 
emotions  and  revelations  of  the  ecstasy,  will  not  greatly  help  us 
here ;  for  the  sense  of  a  Beyond,  and  the  resulting  strength  that 
often  comes  from  it,  is  by  no  means  dependent  upon  trance,  and' 
occurs  in  innumerable  cases  when  the  trance  conditions  are 
absent. 

The  explanation  which  naturally  presents  itself  first  is  the 
hypothsis  that  the  experience  is  due  entirely  to  social  education, 
imitation,  auto-suggestion.  This  probably  accounts  for  a  very 
great  deal  that  passes  under  the  name  of  the  sense  of  presence. 
I  quote  here  from  one  of  my  respondents  who  is  certainly  typical 
of  a  great  many  religious  people.  "  I  have  many  experiences 
that  to  me  mean  God's  presence,  although  I  cannot  describe 
them.  One  Sunday  I  was  discouraged  thinking  no  one  cared 
for  a  beautiful  bouquet  I  placed  on  the  altar.  As  I  turned  to 
walk  away  a  light  seemed  to  descend  on  my  head,  filling  my 
soul  with  sweetness.  God  was  there  and  accepted  my  offer- 
ing. I  wept,  feeling  unworthy,  yet  so  glad  of  God's  love." 
Perhaps  one  ought  not  to  be  dogmatic  about  even  a  case  of 
this  sort.  And  yet  it  seems  clear  enough  that  no  further  ex- 
planation here  is  needed  than  that  to  be  found  in  an  emotional, 
simple,  and  suggestible  nature  molded  since  childhood  by  the 
common  idea  that  religious  feeling  is  always  a  sign  of  the  pres- 
ence of  God. 

But  while  imitation  and  suggestion  will  explain  a  large  part 
of  the  experience  in  question,  they  fall  short,  in  my  opinion  at 
least,  of  being  a  complete  and  adequate  explanation.  The  case 
just  cited,  while  typical  of  a  large  class  of  religious  people,  is 
very  far  from  being  typical  of  mysticism  as  a  whole.  The 
reader  of  this  book  will  recall  manv  cases  in  which  the  sense  of 
presence  was,  to  say  the  least,  very  much  less  easy  of  explanation 
than  in  that  of  the  woman  and  the  bouquet.  And  even  if  it 
be  granted  that  the  mystic's  idea  of  God's  presence  is  always 
due  to  social  education,  the  intensity  of  the  experience  that 


452  THE  KELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

God  IS  present  is  hardly  to  be  accounted  for  so  easily.  If 
we  may  trust  the  mystic's  word  at  all,  the  experience  is  a  very 
diifercnt  tliiiii;  from  the  idea;  and  while,  very  possibly,  the  idea 
must  bo  there  before  the  oxy)erience  can  come,  something  else 
must  be  there  too.     As  Delacroix  puts  it : 

"  The  mystic  tradition  explains  the  search  of  the  mystics,  but 
it  would  not  suffice  to  transform  it  into  experience  if  the  search 
itself  had  not  been  the  sign  of  a  particular  aptitude.  For  it 
is  not  a  question  of  understanding  a  doctrine  but  of  experienc- 
ing a  certain  condition ;  and  whatever  be  the  power  of  sugges- 
tion in  the  case  of  a  doctrine,  it  certainly  is  not  able  to  create 
out  of  nothing  a  psychical  nature  which  shall  transform  the 
doctrine  into  a  state  of  the  soul."  This  psychical  nature,  this 
state  of  the  spirit,  the  mystics  call  intuition,  in  contradistinction 
to  meditation.  "  The  appearance  of  spontaneous  intuitions 
which  occupy  and  dominate  the  consciousness  and  may  by 
repetition  form  almost  a  habit,  and  by  linking  themselves  with 
each  other  form  almost  a  continuous  intuition,  characterize  the 
mystics  very  exactly;  and  no  external  tradition  could  pass  into 
them  if  they  did  not  already  possess  this  mode  of  consciousness, 
which  is  in  fact  at  the  very  basis  of  the  mvstic  tradition  it- 
self." ^3 

Education  and  suggestion,  then,  constitute  a  partial,  but  only 
a  partial  explanation  of  the  mystic  consciousness.  For  a  full 
and  complete  explanation  we  must  go  deeper  than  this.  I  do  not 
think  that  psychology  is  yet  ready  to  give  this  explanation  in 
any  detail.  But  if  it  is  ever  to  be  fully  made  out  it  must  be 
sought  pretty  far  down  in  the  less  superficial  parts  of  our  psycho- 
physical being.  Intuition  and  instinct  are  closely  allied,  and 
the  mystic  sense  is  in  some  respects  similar  to  both.  It  is 
the  expression  of  the  religious  attitude  and  demand  of  the 
race.  And  the  full  explanation  of  it,  if  it  is  ever  found,  will 
involve  not  merely  the  acceptance  of  suggested  ideas,  but  much 
of  our  emotional  and  volitional  nature,  the  fringe  region  of  con- 
sciousness, and  perhaps  also  the  unconscious  and  instinctive  re- 
gions of  our  being.  It  is  hardly  to  be  expected  that  such  a  com- 
plete explanation  will  be  made  out  for  several  generations  at  the 
earliest.     For  various  lines  of  psychological  investigation  bear 

13  Op.  cit.,  pp.  359  and  361. 


THE  PLACE  AXD  VALUE  OF  MYSTICISM      453 

upon  it.  If,  for  instance,  the  existence  of  telepathy  could  be 
demonstrated  and  its  laws  formulated,  it  is  conceivable  that  a 
great  deal  of  light  might  be  throwni  on  our  problem.  And  the 
various  facts  that  are  gradually  being  discovered  about  the  sub- 
conscious, multiple  personality,  association,  emotion,  etc., 
may  all  have  their  contributions  toward  any  possible  answer. 
Our  problem  and  our  data  are  exceedingly  complex,  and  no  sim- 
ple formula  or  phrase  such  as  "  auto-suggestion  "  and  the  like 
can  be  really  satisfactory. 

It  is  of  course  possible  that  even  if  all  the  relevant  psychologi- 
cal facts  were  known  we  should  still  be  unable  to  formulate  the 
facts  of  mysticism  into  regular  laws ;  or  that  even  with  some 
kind  of  formulation  there  would  still  remain  evident  gaps  be- 
tween the  facts  as  formulated.  From  this  we  might  conceiv- 
ably be  led  to  accept  the  hypothesis  of  Miss  Underbill  or  of 
James  (in  some  modified  form)  as  the  most  probable  meta- 
physical view.  But  be  it  noted  that  in  the  last  analysis  these 
attempts  at  a  mediating  position  cannot  be  called  scientific ;  they 
are  hardlv  more  scientific  in  the  strict  sense  of  the  term  than  is 
the  frankly  supernatural  view.  For  the  appeal  that  they  make 
is,  after  all,  an  appeal  to  hypothetical  events  that  are  essentially 
unverifiable  in  human  experience.  A  position  such  as  that  of 
James  or  of  Boutroux  may  indeed  be  a  perfectly  good  meta- 
physical hypothesis  and  it  might  be  put  in  such  a  way  as  to  be 
consistent  with  a  naturalistic  .description  of  the  facts.  The 
mystic  experience  may  indeed  be  significant  of  something  beyond 
itself,  and  the  metaphysical  question  whether  a  materialistic  or  a 
spiritualistic  Weltanschauung  is  most  consistent  with  it  and  most 
satisfactorily  explains  it  is  still  an  open  question.  But  it  is  a 
question  upon  which  science  cannot  take  sides.  And  since  sci- 
ence as  such  is  limited  to  the  description  and  generalization  of 
human  experience,  we  are  forced  as  psychologists  to  make  use  of 
the  "  naturalistic  ''  view  (which  does  not  mean  the  materialistic 
view),  no  matter  how  firmly  we  may  be  convinced  that  an 
ultimate  metaphysical  explanation  would  quite  transcend  our 
naturalistic  description. 

But  did  I  go  too  far  in  admitting,  as  I  did  a  moment  ago, 
that  the  mystic's  experience  may  be  significant  of  something  be- 
yond  itself?     May   it   indeed   still   be   possible   that,   though 


454  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

psychology'  is  bound  to  confine  itself  to  the  psychic  state  as  such 
and  its  relations  to  other  forms  of  human  experience,  the 
mystic's  interpretation  of  his  experience  is  still,  in  some  re- 
spects at  least,  literally  true  ?  —  that  he  actually  does,  in  some 
sense,  apprehend  or  come  into  contact  with,  an  encircling  spir- 
itual world  ?  —  Some  psychologists  would  certainly  insist  that 
we  have  no  logical  right  to  such  an  hypothesis.  Professor 
Leuba,  for  example,  as  I  understand  him,  insists  that  the  only 
kind  of  God  lo^^icallv  thinkable  is  an  Absolute  who  never  does 
anything,  but  merely  always  does  everything  and  who,  there- 
fore is  no  more  to  be  found  in  the  workings  of  the  mystic's  con- 
sciousness than  in  the  roaring  of  the  sea.  It  is  the  purpose  of 
that  very  able  Eleventh  Chapter  in  his  "  Psychological  Study  of 
Religion  "  to  show  that  ''  inner  experience  "  cannot  be  regarded 
in  any  sense  as  evidence  of  the  existence  or  presence  of  God. 
"  To  make  ^  inner  experience '  the  only  source  of  religious 
knowledge  means,"  he  insists,  "  a  surrender  to  psychological 
science."  ^*  And  by  a  surrender  to  psychological  science  he 
means  a  surrender  of  all  transcendental  reference.  He  quotes 
Ribot  and  Flournoy  to  the  effect  that  when  dealing  with  re- 
ligious feeling  psychology  "  is  incompetent  in  the  matter  of  its 
objective  value,"  and  he  adds :  "  Professor  Flournoy  is  right 
if  the  God  of  religion  is  really  the  Metaphysical  God,  Infinite, 
Impersonal.  In  that  case  science  is  certainly  incompetent. 
But  if,  on  the  contrary,  the  object  necessary  to  the  religion  of 
Professor  Flournoy's  auditors,  and  to  religion  generally,  mani- 
fests himself  directly  to  human  consciousness,  if  he  reveals  him- 
self in  human  experiences,  and  if  faith  in  him  is  based  upon 
these  facts  —  then  he  is  an  empirical  God  and  belongs  to 
Science."  ^^ 

In  putting  the  matter  thus  I  cannot  think  that  Professor 
Leuba  means  his  words  to  be  taken  literally.  The  God  whom 
modern  theologians  consider  demonstrated,  or  made  probable,  by 
religious  experience,  surely  can  in  no  sense  be  said  to  "  belong 
to  Science."  For  by  hypothesis  He  could  never  be  a  scientific 
object,  but  only  a  proposed  explanation  of  various  psychological 
events.  ^^     Doubtless  Professor  Leuba's  meaning,  more  exactly 

14  "A  Psychological  Study  of  Religion,"  p.  256. 

15  Ibid.,  p.  246. 

18  One  might  even  go  further  and  maintain  with  Pacheu  that  to  insist 


THE  PLACE  AND  VALUE  OF  MYSTICISM      455 

expressed,  is  that  the  supposed  evidence  for  such  a  God  should 
be  dealt  with,  not  by  the  theologian  but  by  the  psychologist,  and 
that  He  could  be  argued  to  as  an  explanation  of  experience 
only  on  condition  that  all  strictly  scientific  explanations  of  the 
experiences  in  question  failed.  This,  in  fact,  comes  out  clearly 
in  more  than  one  passage  in  the  chapter  referred  to,  as  in  the 
following :  "  Should  God  act  in  this  manner  [i.  e.  as  a  cause  of 
particular  ideas  or  emotions]  nothing  ought  to  be  easier  than  to 
show  in  the  life  of  feeling  and  of  thought  disturbances  not  de- 
pending upon  known  natural  causes.  The  student  of  the  re- 
ligious life  would  be  in  the  position  of  the  astronomer  who 
knows  that  certain  stars  are  affected  by  forces  of  which  he  does 
not  yet  understand  the  source.  The  fact  is  that,  in  proportion 
as  psychology  advances,  the  apparent  anomalies  of  the  religious 
life  are  more  and  more  completely  explained  according  to  known 
laws."  ^^  I  trust  it  has  become  clear  that  the  hope  to  lift  a 
theology  based  on  inner  experience  out  of  the  sphere  of  science 
is  preposterous :  since  whatever  appears  in  consciousness  is  ma- 
terial for  psychology.  ...  A  theology  that  should  remain 
within  the  domain  accessible  to  science  would  be  limited  to  a 
mere  description  of  man's  religious  consciousness  and  would  be 
deprived  of  the  right  to  any  opinion  on  the  objective  reality  of 
its  objects  and  on  the  universal  validity  of  its  propositions."  ^^ 
There  can,  I  think,  be  little  doubt  that  Professor  Leuba,  in 
most  of  his  positions,  is  perfectly  unassailable.  If  the  existence 
or  presence  of  God  is  to  be  proved  by  an  analysis  of  '  inner 
experience,'  it  is  the  psychologist  who  must  do  it;  and  it  is 
vain  to  talk  of  any  psychological  or  scientific  demonstration  of 
the  kind  until  the  psychologist  acknowledges  that  it  has  been 
accomplished.  And  if  the  psychologist  can  explain  all  the 
facts  of  the  religious  consciousness  by  scientific  laws  then  there 
is  no  psychological  proof  of  God's  presence  and  in^uence  in 
our  lives.  To  be  sure,  psychology  is  still  a  long  way  from  any 
such  universal  explanation ;  and  it  seems  likely  enough  that  no 
such  complete  explanation  may  ever  be  attained.     Still,  the 

upon  an  atheistic  explanation  as  at  the  same  time  scientific  and  ultimate 
is  neither  philosophical  nor  scientific  but  pure  dogmatism.     (See  "  L' Ex- 
perience Mystique,"  p.  303.) 
17  P.  242. 


456  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

possibility  of  such  an  explanation  —  at  any  rate  in  the  present 
condition  of  our  ignorance  —  should  not  be  left  out  of  account. 

But  neither  should  we  leave  out  of  account  the  sort  of  thing 
a  psychlogical  explanation  is.  It  will  not  do  to  go  back  to  the 
pre-IIumian  notion  of  science,  which  puts  it  quite  on  a  par 
with  mathematics.  The  universality  and  necessity  of  science 
to-day  is  rather  a  pra^rmatic  postulate  than  an  axiom  or  logical 
principle.  And  the  only  sort  of  explanation  it  can  offer  is,  in 
the  last  analysis,  merely  a  description  of  what  it  has  regularly 
found.  Particularly  in  psychology  do  we  see  the  great  chasm 
lying  between  mathematical  principles  and  so  called  scientific 
laws."  The  "  Laws  of  Psychology  "  can  hardly  be  stated  ex- 
plicity  without  a  wink,  and  I  sometimes  feel  that  modem  psy- 
chologists are  in  much  the  same  predicament  as  the  augurs  of 
Cicero's  time.  For  there  is  an  undeniable  chasm  not  only 
between  mathematics  and  the  physical  sciences,  but  also  be- 
tween physics  and  psychology.  And  there  are  many  philoso- 
phers and  psychologists  —  and  it  would  seem  a  steadily  increas- 
ing number  of  them  —  who  believe  that  there  is  a  reason  for  this 
chasm.  For  in  the  opinion,  of  these  thinkers  the  object  which 
psychology  studies  is  in  nature  essentially  different  from  the 
object  of  the  physical  sciences.  Psychology,  in  fact,  seems  to  be 
a  mixture  of  two  sciences,  or  to  have  at  least  a  two-fold  subject 
matter.  It  is  in  part  a  description  of  certain  psychical  pro- 
cesses which  are  directly  connected  with  certain  physiological 
processes  and  which  therefore  obey  the  laws  of  the  bodily 
mechanism;  and  it  is  also  a  description  of  the  way  in  which 
persons  usually  think  and  act.^^  Such  a  view  of  the  task  of 
psychology  is,  I  confess,  not  the  orthodox  view  in  most  psycho- 
logical circles,  but  it  is  a  view  held  by  many  individual  psychol- 
ogists and  philosophers,  and  one  which  (whatever  else  may  be 
said  of  it)  is  essentially  empirical,  undogmatic,  and  close  to 
the  facts. 

If  this  view  be  true,  then  the  ^'  explanations  "  of  psychology 

18  Views  of  the  nature  of  psychology  similar  to  that  here  suggested  will 
be  found  in  W.  McDougall's  "Body  and  Mind"  (London,  Methuen:  1915), 
passim;  in  Calkins'  *' P'irst  Book  in  Psychology"  (New  York,  Macmillan: 
1910),  and  her  various  writings  on  the  self;  in  Ogden's  "Introduction 
to  General  Psychology"  (New  York,  Longmans:  1916),  Chap.  XV;  and 
in  Coe's  "  Psychology-  of  Religion,"  Chap.  II. 


THE  PLACE  AND  VALUE  OF  MYSTICISM      457 

will  be  only  the  most  general  sort  of  description,  since  the  ac- 
tivities of  personality,  by  their  very  nature,  can  be  psychologized 
only  in  a  most  superficial  way.  This,  however,  by  no  means 
does  away  with  psychology.  Inasmuch  as  even  free  personali- 
ties are  more  or  less  alike,  and  since  all  human  persons  are  com- 
pelled to  make  use  of  the  same  sort  of  physiological  machine, 
their  customary  activities  and  experiences  will  be  capable  of 
description  in  generalized  language.  And  this  generalized 
description  —  which  is  psychology  —  would  still  hold  even  if 
these  selves  were  surrounded  by  a  non-human  spiritual  world 
with  which  they  had  actual  commerce.  This  spiritual  world 
from  which  ''  saving  experiences  come,''  could  indeed  never  be 
the  object  of  psychology  and  could  never  be  scientifically  proved 
to  exist  except  through  the  complete  failure  of  psychology  in 
some  one  particular  spot.  But  the  real  influence  of  such  a 
world  or  such  a  God  upon  the  minds  of  men  is  in  no  wise  incom- 
patible with  any  descriptions  of  human  experience  which  psy- 
chology has  as  yet  given  us  or  seems  likely  ever  to  give. 

Possibly  I  can  make  this  clearer  by  an  illustration.  Let  us 
imagine  the  human  organism  always  played  upon  by  light;  or 
let  us  picture  the  human  race  as  living  always  in  conditions 
such  as  those  that  now  obtain  in  the  north  arctic  regions  dur- 
ing summer.  Let  us  suppose,  moreover,  that  the  majority  of 
men  are  blind  and  that  only  a  few  see.  When,  now,  the  eyes 
of  one  of  these  seers  are  open,  or  he  is  not  in  some  way  shading 
his  retina,  he  will  be  constantly  receiving  light  sensations.  In 
investigating  these  very  interesting  experiences  your  strict 
psychologist,  who  is  seeking  to  frame  an  exact  scientific  account 
of  the  psychic  life  of  one  of  these  unusual  individuals,  would, 
of  course,  correlate  the  light  sensations  with  raised  eyelids,  and 
their  cessation  with  closed  eyes.  Light  sensations,  he  would 
say,  are  the  invariable  accompaniment  of  open  eyes ;  they  are,  in 
fact,  a  "  function  "  of  open  eyes.  The  principle  of  single  differ- 
ence could  be  applied  with  exactitude  to  show  that  the  opening 
of  the  eyes  was  the  cause  of  the  light  sensations,  and  fully  ex- 
plained them  (in  the  psychological  sense), —  no  reference  being 
needed  to  the  sun  or  the  ether  waves  or  any  other  outer  source. 
The  naive  seer,  innocent  of  the  ways  of  science,  might  indeed  in- 
sist that  he  saw  the  sun,  and  not  merely  his  own  sensations; 


458  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

but  the  psychologist  would  assure  him  that  he  mistook  his  sen- 
sations for  something  objective,  that,  in  fact,  he  was  substituting 
interpretation  for  description,  and  that  the  only  verifiable  and 
scientific  fact  was  his  sensations  of  light.  These,  he  would 
add,  were  fully  described,  generalized,  and  therefore  explained, 
by  the  scientific  law  correlating  them  with  a  certain  condition 
of  the  organism  —  namely  raised  eye-lids,  stimulated  retina, 
afferent  impulse  in  the  optic  nerves,  and  stimulation  of  the  visual 
centers  in  the  occipital  lobes.  If  the  naive  seer  were  still  un- 
satisfied, the  psychologist  could  challenge  him  to  see  light  with 
his  eyes  shut  or  to  fail  to  see  it  with  them  open,  or  to  point  out 
a  single  element  in  his  experience  not  accounted  for  by  the 
psychological  formula. 

Both  seer  and  scientist  would  be  right.  The  psychological 
explanation  would  be  complete  (in  its  own  way  and  within  its 
self-imposed  limits),  and  it  would  be  vain  to  seek  to  prove  the 
objective  existence  of  the  sun  by  breaking  down  the  psychologi- 
cal correlation  of  light  sensation  and  organic  condition.  And 
yet  it  would  be  true  that  the  seer  saw  the  sun. 

May  it,  then,  perhaps  be  that  the  mystics  are  the  seers  of  our 
world,  and  that  whenever  they  open  the  eyes  of  their  souls,  the 
Eternal  Light  pours  in ;  and  that  though  we  blind  ones  learnedly 
describe,  generalize,  and  explain  their  experience  by  regular 
psychological  laws  which  take  account  only  of  the  psycho- 
physical organism,  still  the  light  is  really  there  and  the  mystic 
apprehends  it  directly,  even  as  he  says  ?  This  question  is  not 
for  psychological  discussion.  But  I  think  we  may  say  at  least 
this  much :  that  while  the  psychology  of  religion  must  have  a 
free  hand,  and  while  it  is  hopeless  to  look  to  it  for  a  proof  of 
an\1:hing  transcendent,  nothing  that  it  can  say  should  prevent 
the  religious  man,  who  wishes  to  be  perfectly  loyal  to  logic  and 
loyal  to  truth,  from  seeing  in  his  own  spiritual  experiences  the 
genuine  influence  of  a  living  God. 

The  question  we  have  been  discussing  is  certainly  an  import- 
ant one  and  very  worthy  of  study.  Yet  it  must  be  confessed 
that  our  investigation  of  it  has  thrown  but  little  light,  except 
in  a  negative  w^ay,  on  the  question  with  which  we  started  out  — 
namely  the  place  and  value  of  mysticism.  We  have  indeed 
learned  that  mysticism  is  neither  to  be  prized  nor  to  be  despised 


THE  PLACE  AND  VALUE  OF  MYSTICISM      459 

because  of  its  origin,  that  its  value  is  to  be  determined  (to  use 
James's  phrase)  not  by  its  roots  but  by  its  fruits.  Whatever  its 
cause,  it  is  (as  the  pragmatists  would  say)  what  it  is  known  as. 
Hence  to  determine  in  more  positive  fashion  its  place  in  religion 
and  its  value  in  life  we  must  take  up  a  more  direct  considera- 
tion of  its  characteristics  and  its  consequences. 

And  first  of  all,  the  question  presents  itself.  To  what  extent 
is  mysticism  a  pathological  condition,  and  how  far  is  it  nor- 
mal ?  On  a  question  of  mental  pathology  certainly  no  one  can 
speak  with  more  authority  than  Professor  Pierre  Janet,  and  we 
may,  therefore,  profitably  consider  first  of  all  his  opinion  on 
this  matter.  Professor  Janet  formed  his  conclusions  largely 
on  the  basis  of  his  direct  observations  of  the  ecstatic  whom  he 
studied  at  the  Salpetriere.  In  her  ecstatic  phase  "  Madeleine  " 
presented  symptoms  suggesting  hysteria  yet  differing  from  it  in 
some  important  respects;  while  in  her  periods  of  dryness  she 
seemed  much  more  closely  allied  to  the  ''  scrupuleux/'  In 
spite  of  her  burning  altruism  she  had  a  great  dread  of  the 
world,  a  corresponding  weakness  of  will  and  of  the  attention, 
and  a  consequent  inability  to  attain  to  the  full  sense  of  cer- 
tainty and  reality.  Like  the  historical  mystics  we  have  studied, 
she  suffered  frequently,  in  her  periods  of  dryness,  from  doubts 
and  the  loss  of  the  sense  of  reality.  The  question  which  pre- 
sented itself  to  Professor  Janet  was  therefore  how  to  diagnose 
a  case  which  seemed  to  be  half  way  between  hysteria  and  scrup- 
ulosity. His  final  conclusion  made  the  latter  the  more  fun- 
damental of  the  two,  the  ecstatic  condition  being  regarded  as  a 
temporary  relief  from  the  chronic  sense  of  unreality,  and  its 
intense  joy  being  due  to  the  contrast  between  it  and  the  patient's 
more  habitual  psychosis.  The  striking  similarity  between 
Madeleine's  ecstasies  and  those  of  the  historical  mystics,  and 
also  that  between  her  periods  of  dryness  and  theirs,  led  Janet  to 
apply  his  diagnosis  of  her  case  to  all  the  ecstatics ;  and  he  there- 
fore concludes :  '^  The  ecstatic  is  a  scrupideux  who  tends  to- 
ward hysteria,  and  who  now  and  then  approximates  it  without 
ever  quite  reaching  it."  ^^ 

In  this  view  of  mysticism  Professor  Janet  is  by  no  means 

19  "  Une  Extatiqiie."     Bulletin  de  I'lnstitut  Psychologique  International, 
I,  esp.  pp.  238-240. 


460  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

alone.  Murisier,  from  whom  so  much  has  been  quoted  in  the 
preceding  chapters,  and  who  had  a  rather  remarkable  gift  of 
keen  psychological  analysis,  regards  mysticism  as  essentially  a 
process  of  pathological  '^  simplification  "  and  therefore  as  one  of 
the  two  great  "  mnhrlics  du  sentiment  religieux/*  The  mystic 
at  the  very  beginning  of  his  course  is  somewhat  abnormal ;  his 
conscious  life  is  characterized  by  an  exaggerated  and  distressing 
incoherence  and  instability  and  also  by  a  great  longing  for  unity. 
Unity  he  seeks  by  a  process  of  elimination.  One  thing  after  an- 
other—  impulse,  thought,  emotion, —  is  stripped  off,  till  at  last 
the  poor  consciousness  is  bereft  of  almost  every  natural  human 
possession  and  a  state  of  monoideism  sets  in,  to  be  followed 
by  a  pure  emotional  state  and  the  unconscious  trance.  Thus 
at  last,  and  for  a  brief  interval,  is  the  pain  of  incoherence  al- 
layed and  the  peace  of  inner  unity  won.  Thereafter  this  peace, 
which  is  found  alone  in  the  ecstasy,  becomes  the  mystic's  one 
goal  and  his  constant  thought. ^^ 

Much  the  same  general  view  of  the  pathological  nature  of 
mysticism  is  held  by  numerous  other  psychologists  and  physi- 
ologists. In  Maudsley's  opinion,  the  mystic  intuition,  when 
not  simple  imagination  and  self-delusion,  is  ordinary  delir- 
ium.'^ Charbonnier  regards  mysticism  as  an  aberration  of  the 
digestive  apparatus  due  to  fasting. ^^  Marie  considers  it  of 
the  same  type  as  obsession  and  delirium,  and  explains  it  by  an 
ingenious  theory,  borrowed  from  Meynert,  according  to  which 
ancestral  ideas  and  practices  are  inherited  by  all  but  lie  dormant 

20  "  Les  Maladies  du  Sentiment  Religieux,"  Chap.  I. 

21  "Natural  Causes  and  Supernatural  Seemings "  (London,  Triibner: 
1897),  Part  III. 

22 "  Voyons  ce  que  rapporte  I'histoire  des  mystiques  concernant  leurs 
maladies.  Causes  pr^disposantes:  Les  aliments,  de  la  plus  tendre  en- 
fance,  sont  tir^s  exclusivement  du  regne  v^g6tal.  Le  d6faut  de  viande 
porte  une  atteinte  fficheuse  non  seulement  aux  activit^s  physiques  de 
I'homme,  mais  A  ses  facult^s  sup^rieures.  Prodromes:  app6tit  languis- 
sant;  appauvrissement  du  sang;  tendance  k  la  raelancolie  et  A  la  medita- 
tion. Symptomes:  On  remarque  une  perte  complete  d'app^tit  qui  dure 
parfois  un  moia,  des  ni^vralpies  multiples  et  tres  rebellea.  Les  secretions 
se  font  mal ;  la  transpiration  se  supprime.  La  constipation,  I'absence 
d'urine  temoignent  que  les  fonctions  de  nutrition  sont  arret^es.  Souvent 
des  hemorrhagies  pulmonaires  et  cutan^es,  delire.  Mille  hallucinations 
apparissent,  Le  malade  entend  et  voit  des  personnages  invisibles."  P. 
Charbonnier,  "Maladies  et  Facultes  Diverses  des  Mystiques:  M^moire  pre- 
sents a  I'Academie  royale  de  medicine  de  Belgique,"  pp.  222-23. 


THE  PLACE  AND  VALUE  OF  MYSTICISM      461 

in  the  subconscious  of  the  normal  mind,  while  in  the  mystic  and 
other  abnormal  individuals  they  are  roused  from  their  uncon- 
scious slumbers  by  some  derangement  of  the  higher  centers. ^^ 
In  like  manner  for  Binet-Sangle  practically  all  the  mystics  are 
degenerates  of  one  form  or  another,  Jesus  in  particular  being  a 
paranoiac.^* 

In  considering  this  question  for  ourselves  we  shall  first  of  all 
recall  to  mind  the  distinction,  so  often  emphasized,  between  the 
milder  and  the  more  extreme  forms  of  mysticism.  Of  course 
none  of  the  distinguished  writers  whom  I  have  just  quoted 
means  to  maintain  that  the  mysticism  of  the  common-place 
type,  described  in  Chapter  XVI,  is  pathological.  Doubtless 
they  would  consider  it  a  case  of  mild  self-delusion,  but  self-de- 
lusion is,  unfortunately,  too  common  a  thing  to  be  called  ab- 
normal. It  is  only  the  mystics  of  the  more  intense  type  to 
whom  these  writers  refer  —  the  noted  historical  ^'  mystics  " 
and  all  others  who  display  the  characteristics  described  in  the 
preceding  three  chapters.  These  they  consider  essentially 
pathological  and  as  belonging  to  the  same  group  as  the  hysterics, 
the  scrupaleux,  the  abouliques,  etc. 

Now  our  study  of  mysticism  in  this  more  intense  form  has 

23  "  Mysticisme  et  Folie,"  pp.  125-131.  Cf.,  esp.,  the  following:  "  Mai- 
gr6  la  diversit6  apparente  des  d6it6s  invoquees  par  les  delirants,  on  pent 
ramener  3.  deux  groupes  des  d6it68  mises  en  cause  selon  que  ce  sont  dea 
6sprits  malfaisants  ou  bien-veillants :  dieux  ou  diables.  Or,  en  somme, 
revolution  de  I'idee  diabolique  depuis  le  XVIIe  siecle  peut  se  r^sumer  en 
un  mot:  Le  diable  a  ete  vaincu.  II  n'y  a  plus  de  possession  par  les 
mauvais  anges.  Mais  il  reste  encore  la  possession  par  les  bons  anges. 
Ce  qui  au  XVIIe  sifecle  aurait  fait  brtiler,  aujourh'hui  sanctifie.  .  .  . 
Saintes  ou  possed^es,  peu  importe.  Nous  savons  qu'elles  sont  tout  simple- 
ment  des  malades,"  pp.  130-131. 

24  This  is  the  thesis  of  his  most  recent  work,  "  La  Folie  de  Jesus " 
(Paris,  Maloine:  1910).  His  conclusion  as  to  Jesus  is  as  follows:  "  Ce 
d6g6ner6  6tait  done  atteint  de  paranoia  religieuse,  de  theomegalomanie.  II 
8ut,  surtout  dans  la  premiere  periode  de  son  delire,  des  hallucinations  de 
nature  religieuse:  hallucinations  visuelles  hautes  et  lumineuses,  exoaudi- 
tives  verbales,  kinesth6siques  verbales  avec  automatisme,  aeroplaniques, 
les  unes  consolantes,  les  autres  terrifiantes,  celles-ci  se  groupant  de  fagon 
ft  constituer  le  syndrome  de  la  demonomanie  externe.  En  tout  ceci  J^sus 
ne  differait  point  des  th^^omegalomanes  observ<^s  avant  et  apres  lui.  de  ces 
agites  qui  troubl^rent  le  monde  jusqu'au  dix-neuvieme  siecle  et  qui  ne  se 
rencontrent  plus  que  dans  les  maisons  de  8ant6  et  dans  les  asiles."  Vol. 
II,  pp.  500-10.  No  comment  here  is  needed.  The  reader  will  probably 
judge  for  himself  that  the  learned  alienist  is  himself  not  altogether  free 
from  paranoia. 


462  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

certainly  indicated  that  there  is  a  great  deal  of  truth  in  this 
contention.  In  the  first  place  it  cannot  be  denied  that  many  of 
the  lesser  ecstatics  have  been  simple  cases  of  mental  pathology, 
differing  from  other  unfortunates  only  in  the  fact  that  their  par- 
ticular kind  of  insanity  had  a  religious  tinge.  The  books  on 
psychiatry  are  filled  with  reports  of  weak-minded  and  degener- 
ate men  and  women  who  see  visions,  hear  voices,  and  experience 
emotional  thrills  quite  similar  to  those  described  by  some  of  the 
mystics. ^^  Nor  can  it  be  denied  that  there  is  something  patho- 
logical in  the  experience  of  many  of  even  the  great  mystics.  So 
true  is  this  that  the  mystics  themselves,  far  from  denying  it,  are 
the  first  to  recognize  and  call  attention  to  it.  Many  of  their 
visions  and  locutions  and  impulsions  they  brand  as  temptations 
of  the  Evil  One,  or  sometimes  call  them  frankly  hallucinations. 
But  to  say  that  the  great  mystics  are  therefore  to  be  classed  as 
hysterics,  etc.,  is  a  very  different  matter.  Surely  one  may  have 
an  occasional  headache  without  being  an  invalid ;  and  not  even 
a  fever  delirium  and  an  hallucination  should  class  one  among 
the  insane.  Moreover,  although  a  superficial  view  of  some  of 
the  unusual  experiences  of  these  greater  mystics  reminds  one  of 
aboulia,  idee  fixe,  hysteria,  etc.,  a  closer  examination  shows  cer- 
tain very  important  differences.  Many  of  the  mystics  certainly 
have  been  subject  to  hallucination,  and  to  a  narrowing  of  con- 
sciousness similar  to  the  initial  stages  of  the  hypnotic  trance  — 
as  described  in  the  previous  chapter ;  but,  as  Leuba  has  so  well 
shown,  it  is  a  mistake  to  regard  them  as  cases  of  aboulia  or  idee 
fixe,  or  ^^  simplification."  -®  The  great  mystic  is  not  troubled 
with  the  chaotic  turmoil  of  ideas,  from  which  the  *'  douteurs  " 
and  the  ''  scrupuleux  "  suffer.  Murisier's  description  of  the  in- 
stability and  incoherence  of  the  mystic's  consciousness,  while  it 
is  applicable  to  some  of  the  more  abnormal  cases,  certainly  does 
not  apply  to  the  majority.     The  mystic  seeks  to  simplify  not 

25  To  seek  to  determine  the  exact  mental  disease  to  which  the  mystics  are 
subject  would  be  futile,  both  because  different  mystics  show  so  many 
different  kinds  of  symptoms,  and  also  because  it  is  so  unsatisfactory  to 
attempt  any  exact  classification  of  mental  diseases  with  hard  and  fast 
lines  between  them.  Cf.  Dubois,  "  The  Psychic  Treatment  of  Nervoug 
Disorders"    (New  York,  Funk  and  Wagnalls:    1907). 

28 "  Tendances  fondamentales  des  Mystiques  Chretiens,"  esp.  pp.   28-30. 


THE  PLACE  AND  VALUE  OF  MYSTICISM      463 

his  ideas  but  his  impulses  and  to  bring  them  all  into  harmony 
with  what  he  regards  as  the  will  of  God. 

N^or  can  the  mystics  be  written  down  as  pathological  because 
of  their  "  monoideism  "  and  their  ^'  suggestibility."  In  one 
sense,  as  Boutroux  has  pointed  out,  these  two  words  character- 
ize excellently  the  mystic's  life.  But  in  this  sense  they  char- 
acterize every  earnest  life.  "  The  man  of  genius,  too,  is  pos- 
sessed by  one  idea,  suggests  to  himself  to  find  it  great  and  beau- 
tiful, and  ends  by  acting,  as  it  were,  automatically  according  to 
that  idea.  Nor  is  it  only  the  man  of  genius,  himself  somewhat 
akin  to  the  mystic,  who  offers  examples  of  auto-suggestion  and 
mono-ideism.  These  two  phenomena  are  to  be  met  with  in  every 
man  of  action,  in  all  who  devote  themselves  to  some  one  cause, 
mission,  or  task.  I  believe,  indeed,  that  both  of  them  are 
definite  conditions  of  existence  for  every  man  who  reflects."  ^^ 
Here  the  important  thing  to  notice  (which  Boutroux  does  not 
make  quite  as  plain  as  he  might)  is  that  the  auto-suggestion  and 
mono-ideism  of  the  great  mystic  are  more  nearly  related  to 
those  of  the  man  of  action,  than  to  the  pathological  conditions 
of  the  same  name  found  in  degenerates.  This  will  be  clearer 
if  we  compare  the  mystic  more  specifically  with  the  hysteric. 

Some  of  the  great  mystics  have  probably  had  touches  of  hys- 
teria at  certain  crises  in  their  careers.  But  if  we  take  their 
lives  and  activities  —  in  short  their  mysticism  as  a  whole  — 
they  present  a  very  marked  contrast  to  the  hysteric.  Both  in- 
deed are  very  suggestible;  but  the  hysteric  is  subject  to  all 
sorts  of  haphazard  suggestions,  from  without  and  from  within, 
whereas  the  Christian  mystic  is  dominated  constantly  by  the 
se-Z/'Suggestion  of  a  determined  will  bent  on  the  pursuit  of 
righteousness.  The  flabbiness  of  will  and  the  disintegration  of 
the  personality  which  are  so  characteristic  of  the  hysteric  are 
certainly  the  last  things  to  be  found  in  the  great  Christian  mys- 
tics. In  fact  perhaps  nothing  more  distinguishes  them  than 
just  this  strength  of  will,  this  determination  to  unify  their  lives 
and  direct  their  activities  according  to  the  divine  purpose.] 
Their  very  physical  and  nervous  weakness,  when  it  appears, 

27  Boutroux,    "The    Psychology    of    Mysticism,"    Am     Jour,    of   Ethics, 
XVIII,  193. 


464  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

onlv  shows  this  in  clearer  ViiAit  Weakness  of  the  bodv,  ex- 
hausted  nerves,  a  touch  of  hysteria,  a  ''  temptation  of  Satan,'' 
these  they  recofnii^.e  as  bein^  there  only  to  be  overcome.^® 
"  These  great  conquerors  of  souls  conquered  themselves  first  of 
all.  They  discipline  what  Maine  de  Biran  calls  the  mechanical 
or  the  organic,  they  overcome  the  wildness  or  the  excess  of  their 
neurotic  constitution ;  they  inhibit  or  make  use  of  the  super- 
abundance and  the  irrationality  of  their  emotional  excitability, 
they  impose  a  rational  plan  upon  their  automatisms,  they  adapt 
ner\'ous  and  psychical  activities  to  an  end  which  they  pursue 
with  all  their  zeal.  The  soul  of  the  mystic  has  a  richness  of 
intuition  and  of  action  which  sometimes  goes  to  the  extent  of 
delirium ;  but  the  power  of  adaptation  to  life,  and  the  intelli- 
gence which  stands  back  of  the  intuition,  distinguish  the  order- 
ing of  the  mystic  life  from  that  of  the  really  delirious."  ^^ 

It  is  even  possible  that  the  ecstasies  of  the  mystics,  pathologi- 
cal as  they  seem  to  us,  may  not  always  have  been  altogether  dis- 
advantageous but  may  have  added  an  insight  or  an  inspiration 
which  was  needed  for  the  full  development  of  the  mystic's  life 
and  activity.  I  do  not  s:ay  that  these  phenomena  are  on  the 
whole  desirable  —  in  fact  I  am  convinced  they  are  not ;  but 
I  am  not  sure  that  the  question  is  altogether  so  simple  as  at 
first  it  may  appear.     It  is  easy  to  say  without  further  investiga- 

28  Cf.  ^olv,  "  Psychologie  des  Saints,"  pp.  109-126.  "  Ainsi  done,  lea 
grands  saints  peuvent  ressentir  des  ph^nomenes  pathologiques  dont  un 
docteiw  en  maladies  nerveuses  est  fort  tent^  de  s'emparer.  Mais  ces  acci- 
dents ils  en  triomphent,  et  comment?  Par  ce  qui  leur  reste  d'une  forte  et 
saine  organization?  Peut-etre!  Mais  beaucoup  plus  encore  par  leur  vo- 
lont6  orient^e  sur  le  devoir,  par  I'habitude  qu'ils  ont  prise  de  se  vaincre 
at  de  tirer  parti  de  tout  ce  qui  leur  arrive  de  plus  douloureux  ou  de  plus 
humiliant,"  p.  122. 

29  Delacroix  "  fitudes  d'Histoire  et  de  Psychologic  du  Mysticisme,"  p. 
344.  The  marked  development  and  importance  of  the  mystic's  will  needs 
especial  emphasis  as  it  is  so  completely  overlooked  by  the  popular  view  of 
mysticism.  The  mystic  is  frequMitly  pictured  as  a  weak,  sentimental 
creature  with  little  will  power,  but  excelling  in  intellectual  abstractions. 
The  use  of  the  technical  words  "  meditation "  and  "  contemplation "  by 
the  mystics  and  the  waiters  on  mysticism  has  doubtless  had  much  to  do 
with  this;  and  of  course  some  of  the  mystics  have  been  weak  and  some 
philosophic.  But  the  great  mystics,  and  many  of  the  lesser  ones,  have 
been  strong  and  (in  their  own  way)  practical;  and  as  a  rule  their 
"  meditation "  and  "  contemplation  "  have  been  far  from  intellectual  — 
as  the  preceding  chapter  shows.  Cf.,  further,  Montmorand,  "  Dea  Mys- 
tiques en  dehors  de  I'extase,"  Revue  Phil.,  LVIII,  602fif. 


THE  PLACE  A:N"D  VALUE  OF  MYSTICISM      465 

tiori,  Ecstasy  is  abnormal  and  the  abnormal  is  always  and  in 
every  respect  bad.  But  a  life-long  student  of  mysticism  like 
Baron  von  Hiigel  can  ask,  ^'  Would  that  particular  temperament 
and  psycho-physical  organism  congenial  to  Sister  Lukardis,  to 
Catherine  Fiesca  Adorna,  to  Marguerite  Marie  Alacoque,  and  to 
Isaac  Hecker,  have  —  taking  the  whole  existence  and  output  to- 
gether —  produced  more  useful  work,  and  have  apprehended 
and  presented  more  of  abiding  truth,  had  their  ecstatic  states 
or  tendencies  been  absent  or  suppressed  ?  Does  not  this  type 
of  apprehension,  this  incubation,  harmonization  and  vivifying 
of  their  otherwise  painfully  fragmentary  and  heavy  impressions 
stand  out  as  the  one  thoroughly  appropriate  means  and  form 
of  their  true  self-development  and  self-expression,  and  of  such 
a  showing  forth  of  spiritual  truth  as  to  them  —  to  them  and  not 
to  you  and  me  —  was  possible  ?  " 

Von  Hiigel  believes  that  during  their  productive  periods  the 
ecstasy  was  to  the  mystics  a  source  of  bodily  strength.  And  he 
adds  "  if  after  this,  their  productive  period,  some  of  these  per- 
sons end  by  losing  their  health,  it  is  far  from  unreasonable  to 
suppose  the  actual  alternative  to  these  ecstasies  and  this  break- 
up, would  for  them  have  been  a  life-long  dreary  languor  and 
melancholy  self-absorption,  somewhat  after  the  pattern  of  St. 
Catherine's  last  ten  preconversion  years.  Thus  for  her,  and 
doubtless  for  most  of  the  spiritually  considerable  ecstatics,  life 
was,  taken  all  in  all,  indefinitely  happier,  richer,  and  more 
fruitful  in  religious  truth  and  holiness,  with  the  help  of  those 
ecstatic  states,  than  it  would  have  been  if  these  states  had  been 
absent  or  could  have  been  suppressed."  ^^ 

One  cannot  too  constantly  keep  in  mind  the  fact  that  there 
are  several  different  kinds  of  people  in  this  world,  and  that  what 
for  one  would  constitute  ideal  conditions  of  productivity  would 
for  another  result  in  a  cramping  and  deadening  of  all  spiritual 
life.  We  common-place  people  are  always  in  danger  of  think- 
ing that  just  because  we  are  in  the  majority  we  are  therefore  the 
norm  for  all,  and  that  what  is  best  for  us  is  best  for  the  insig- 
nificant minority  as  well.  But  it  is  certainly  possible  that  for 
unusual  personalities,  like  a  St.  Francis  or  a  St.  Teresa,  unusual 
experiences  may  work  the  birth  and  unfolding  of  larger  powers 

30  "  The  Mystical  Element  in  Religion,"  Vol.  II,  pp.  58-59. 


466  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

and  the  beginning  of  a  deeper  insight  than  we  self-satisfied, 
"  normal  "  people  ever  possess. 

For  the  value  of  mysticism  is  hardly  to  be  determined  by 
pointing  out  that  ecstasy  is  "  abnormal."     When  an  expression 
like  this  is  used  to  settle  everything,  as  the  last  word  on  the 
subject,  one  feels  like  responding:     What  of  it?  —  or  at  least 
like  asking  what  is  meant  by  the  "  normal."     If  the  normal 
is  simply  the  usual,  then  doubtless  ecstasy  is  abnormal ;  and  so 
is  genius  and  holiness.     But  if  we  seek  some  more  illuminating 
and  fruitful  definition  for  our  terms  we  shall  probably  be  driven 
to  the  pragmatic  view  that  the  normal  is  that  which  produces 
desirable  results.     If  this  be  so,  then  the  extreme  forms  of  mys- 
ticism are  just  as  normal  and  just  as  abnormal  as  they  are 
found  to  be.     Like  everything  else  they  are  to  be  judged  by  their 
fruits.     This,  in  fact,  is  the  test  used  by  the  great  mystics  them- 
selves to  distinguish  the  demoniac  from  the  divine, —  as  the  fol- 
lowing very  typical  quotations  from  St.  Teresa's  autobiography 
indicate :     "  I  found  myself  through  these  words  [i.  e.  the  words 
of  the  Lord]   alone  tranquil  and  strong,  courageous  and  con- 
fident, at  rest  and  enlightened :     I  felt  I  could  maintain  against 
all  the  world  that  my  prayer  was  the  work  of  God."     "  I  could 
not  believe  that  Satan,  if  he  wished  to  deceive  me,  could  have 
recourse  to  means  so  adverse  to  his  purpose  as  this,  of  rooting 
out  my  faults  and  implanting  virtues  and  spiritual  strength: 
for  I  saw  clearly  that  I  had  become  another  person  by  means 
of  these  visions."     "  I  was  in  a  trance ;  and  the  effects  of  it 
were  such  that  I  could  not  possibly  doubt  that  it  came  from 
God."     St.    Teresa   never   tires   of  describing   in   enthusiastic 
tones  the  value  for  life  of  those  ecstatic  experiences  which  she 
regards  as  divine.     "  Often,   infirm  and  wrought  upon  with 
dreadful  pains  before  the  ecstasy,  the  soul  emerges  from  it  full 
of  health  and  admirably  disposed  for  action.  .  .  .  After  such  a 
favor  the  soul  is  animated  with  a  degree  of  courage  so  great 
that  if  at  that  moment  its  body  should  be  torn  to  pieces  for  the 
cause  of  God,  it  would  feel  nothing  but  the  liveliest  comfort. 
Then  it  is  that  promises  and  heroic  resolutions  spring  up  in  pro- 
fusion in  us,  soaring  desires,  horror  of  the  world,  and  the  clear 
perception  of  our  own  worthlessness."  ^^ 

31 "  Vie,"  p.  229. 


THE  PLACE  AND  VALUE  OF  MYSTICISM      467 

In  like  manner  St.  John  of  the  Cross  writes  of  these  mystic 
experiences :  "  They  enrich  the  soul  marvelously.  A  single 
one  of  them  may  be  enough  to  abolish  at  a  stroke  certain  im- 
perfections of  which  the  soul  during  its  whole  life  had  vainly 
tried  to  rid  itself,  and  to  leave  it  adorned  with  virtues  and 
loaded  with  supernatural  gifts.  .  .  .  Invested  with  an  invinci- 
ble courage,  filled  with  an  impassioned  desire  to  suffer  for  its 
God,  the  soul  then  is  seized  with  a  strange  torment  —  that  of 
not  being  allowed  to  suffer  enough."  ^^ 

Testimony  of  this  sort,  coming  as  it  does  from  those  who 
know  whereof  they  speak,  must  be  given  a  good  deal  of  weight 
in  making  up  our  final  decision  as  to  the  value  of  ecstasy.  It 
shows  plainly  that  the  great  mystics  have  a  very  proper  notion 
of  the  test  of  value.  Does  it  also  show  that  the  value  of  the 
ecstasy  is  as  great  as  they  think  it?  Before  accepting  their 
view  we  should  subject  it  to  careful  scrutiny.  Are  the  ^'  super- 
natural gifts "  with  which  the  ecstasy  "  adorns  and  loads " 
the  soul  of  such  a  sort  as  to  seem  to  us  altogether  desir- 
able ?  Does  the  courage  which  is  gained  from  the  experience 
usually  lead  the  mystic  to  the  actual  performance  of  socially 
valuable  deeds,  or  does  most  of  it  evaporate  in  an  emotion  of 
courage  ?  Doubtless  Murisier's  accusation  that  mysticism  is  an- 
tisocial is  an  extreme  statement  and  could  easily  be  refuted  from 
the  lives  of  certain  carefully  selected  mystics  such  as  Teresa 
and  Tauler ;  but  if  we  consider  the  rank  and  file  of  the  ecstatics, 
is  there  not  a  great  mass  of  evidence  in  its  favor  ?  And  if  Muri- 
sier  and  the  pathologists  have  exaggerated,  what  shall  be  said 
of  Miss  Underbill  and  the  romanticists  ?  I  trust  I  shall  not  be 
accused  of  lack  of  an  initial  sympathy  for  mysticism,  but  I  must 
confess  that  the  emphasis  laid  by  many  writers  of  our  times 
upon  the  practical  efficiency  and  the  original  insight  of  the 
ecstatics  seems  to  me  to  go  altogether  beyond  the  facts.  Mrs. 
Burr,  basing  her  conclusions  upon  an  unusually  wide  reading 
of  mystical  literature,  insists  that  the  ecstatics  as  a  class  are 
characterized  by  a  lack  of  creativeness  and  a  paucity  of  original 
ideas,  and  that  what  they  did  accomplish  either  in  practical 
activity  or  in  constructive  thought  was  usually  done  in  spite 

S2  Quoted  by  James,  "  Varieties,"  p.  414. 


468  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

of  their  mysticism  rather  than  because  of  it.'^  And  if  we  study 
the  subject  of  ecstasy  in  a  truly  empirical  fashion  and  without 
prejudice,  instead  of  confining  our  attention  to  a  few  brilliant 
and  '^  typical ''  cases,  I  fear  we  shall  be  forced  to  agree  in  large 
measure  with  ^Nfrs.  Burr. 

While  Mrs.  Burr's  presentation  of  the  matter  is  nmch  nearer 
the  truth  than  is  that  of  many  an  enthusiastic  defender  of  the 
mystics,  however,  it  must  be  remembered  that  it  is  of  the 
ecstatics  she  is  writing,  and  that  what  she  says  of  their  experi- 
ence and  its  consequences  is  by  no  means  to  be  applied  in  its 
entirety  to  the  less  intense  form  of  mysticism.  This  milder 
type  of  religious  experience,  amounting  as  it  often  does  to  no 
more  than  an  emotionalization  of  the  cosmic,  may  be  and  fre- 
quently is  a  stimulus  to  both  thought  and  activity  in  a  way  that 
the  ecstasy  seldom  is  except  among  the  very  greatest  of  the 
ecstatics.  ^ 

But  something  further,  I  believe,  may  be  said  even  for  the 
ecstatics.  While,  with  a  few  prominent  exceptions,  their  prac- 
tical activity  was  slight  and  was  probably  hindered  more  than 
helped  by  their  ecstasies  and  trances,  and  while  they  have  con- 
tributed but  little  to  the  world^s  stock  of  ideas,  they  have  con- 
tributed something,  directly  and  indirectly,  and  the  mystics  in 
their  entirety  have  contributed  a  very  great  deal,  to  the  loftiest 
religious  literature  of  nearly  all  the  great  religions.  It  is  a 
mistaken  view  which  regards  the  expressions  of  the  mystics 
and  of  those  who  have  been  inspired  by  them  as  philosophy, 
and  which  attempts  to  jud^^e  them  accordingly.  Rather  they 
should  be  taken  as  a  kind  of  earnest  poetry.  One  should  add 
at  once  that  while  this  poetry  does  not  mean  to  be  scientific,  it 
does  wish  to  communicate  to  the  reader  a  certain  cosmic  sense, 
an  apprehension  of  the  ultimately  real,  a  suggestion  of  a  spir- 
itual environment  which  though  undemonstrable  is  also  irrefu- 
table —  a  poetry  which  has  not  been  without  its  value  —  even 
its  "  pragmatic "  value  —  in  the  life  of  the  last  twenty-five 
centuries.  Scarcely  even  the  most  ^'  hard-minded  "  philosopher 
could  read  over  a  well-chosen  collection  of  mystical  writings,^^ 

33  "  Religious  Confessions  and  Confessants,"  pp.  341-484. 

34  Such,  for  example,  as  Buber's  "  Ekstatische  Konfessionem "  (Jena, 
Diederichs:  1909).  or  the  "  Oxford  Book  of  English  Mystical  Verse"  (Clar- 
endon Press:   1917). 


THE  PLACE  AND  VALUE  OF  MYSTICISM      469 

and  then  study  the  subtle  influences  which  such  expressions  as 
a  whole  have  exerted  upon  the  thought  and  feeling,  the  courage 
and  happiness,  the  daring  and  the  humility  of  the  race,  without 
recognizing  that  mysticism  has  contributed  something  which 
the  world  would  miss. 

Just  how  much  of  the  indubitable  value  of  mysticism  is  due 
to  the  ecstasy  is  a  question  which  it  is  impossible  to  answer. 
Plainly  the  ecstasy  has  contributed  something  ^^  —  in  part  di- 
rectly, much  more  indirectly.  But  by  far  the  greater  part  of 
the  contribution  of  mysticism  has  been  made  by  the  milder  type 
and  by  persons  who  though  gifted  with  a  strong  and  emotional 
sense  of  cosmic  values  have  never  indulged  in  the  excesses  of 
the  ecstatics.  Even  at  its  best  the  ecstasy  is  dangerous  ^^  and 
at  its  worst  is  altogether  evil.  While  it  is  not  the  totally  un- 
productive thing  that  Mrs.  Burr  considers  it,  I  can  have  little 
doubt  that  its  dangers  are  greater  than  its  probable  rewards, 
and  that  it  is  a  form  of  experience  which  should  be  emphatically 
discouraged.^'^ 

I  have  said  that  mysticism  is  a  kind  of  poetry.  It  is,  how- 
ever, at  the  antipodes  from  the  mere  musings  of  fancy.  As  we 
have  seen,  it  has  a  message  to  give  concerning  the  spiritual 

35  We  have  the  direct  evidence  of  Professor  FlouVnoy's  modern  mystic 
to  show  that  the  ecstasy  does  contribute  something  to  the  conception  of 
Grod.  In  her  own  words,  the  experience  in  question  "  a  inaugur6  en  moi 
une  nouvelle  conception  du  divin,  a  laquelle  je  ne  suis  pas  arriv^e  d'un 
bond,  mais  qui  me  semble  maintenant  avoir  consists  a  d^gager  I'id^e  de 
Dieu  de  toute  entrave  dogmatique,  de  toute  formule  immuable.  Avant 
cela,  j'avais  de  Dieu  une  id^e  toujours  la  meme  (cut  and  dried  comme 
disent  les  Anglais)  ;  et  je  sens  bien,  maintenant,  combien  limitee,  ^triquee, 
6tait  cette  conception.  Puis  parce  que  cela  ne  changeait  pas,  cela  avait 
presque  cess6  d'etre  en  moi  le  vivant,  le  r6el  par  excellence.  La  dedans, 
nee  je  pense  des  profondeurs  de  ma  d§tresse  morale,  a  eclats  TExp^^rience. 
J'ai  essays  tant  de  fois  de  la  d^crire,  je  ne  veux  pas  le  tenter  une  fois  de 
plus,  tout  ce  que  j'en  ai  dit  n'a  jamais  pu  en  donner  une  id6e  adequate. 
J'ai  eu  d'embl^e  la  conviction  triomphante  et  irraisonn^e  que  c'^tait  le 
contact  avec  ce  qui  est,  I'approche  de  la  R^alit^  essentielle.  A  chaque  foia 
tout  en  moi  a  tressailli  d'une  emotion  que  je  n'ai  jamais  ^prouvee  ailleurs, 
C'6tait  comme  I'attouchement  imm^iat,  sans  intermMiaire  intellectuel, 
avec  ce  que  je  ressentais  comme  une  force  divine."      (Op.  cit.,  p.  147.) 

86  Cf.  Mrs.  Herman,  "  The  Meaning  and  Value  of  Mysticism,"  pp.  134- 
38. 

87  It  is  interesting  to  note  that  Professor  Flournoj^'s  mystic  gradually 
came  to  disapprove  of  the  ecstasy,  partly  because  it  helped  her  in  no  way 
to  help  others,  partly  because  the  milder  form  of  the  experience  seemed 
to  her  increasingly  the  more  thoroughly  satisfying. 


470  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

environment  of  man  about  which  it  is  very  much  in  earnest.  In 
this  connection  it  is  at  times  faced  with  the  question  of  person- 
ality, and  its  position  on  this  subject  is  often  uncertain  and 
often  misunderstood.  The  intense  conviction  which  all  the 
mystics  share,  that  at  times  man  can  come  into  touch  with  God, 
tends  to  bring  many  to  the  conclusion  that  in  this  communion 
the  human  self  is  lost  or  dissolved  in  the  divine.  "  The  cre- 
ated abyss,"  says  Tauler,  referring  to  the  human  soul,  ''  leads 
into  the  Uncreated  Abyss,  and  the  two  abysses  become  a  single 
unit,  an  unmixed,  divine  Being.  The  human  spirit  loses  itself 
in  the  Spirit  of  God,  it  is  plunged  in  the  Bottomless  Sea."  '® 
And  starting  from  some  such  view  of  the  mystic  experience  some 
have  gone  still  farther  and  concluded  that  there  is  really  no 
human  self  to  be  dissolved,  but  that  only  the  Divine  exists  — 
and  this  not  as  a  personality  but  as  an  unknowable  "  Brahman  " 
or  a  "  stille  Wiiste/* 

There  is  one  type  of  mysticism  (designated  by  Ribot  ^®  as 
Quietist)  which  certainly  tends  to  inhibit  the  impulse  for  self- 
preservation  and  to  produce  a  longing  for  the  obliteration  of 
the  self.  This  does  not  as  a  rule  lead  to  or  suggest  suicide;  it 
is  self  as  a  metaphysical  entity  which  the  Quietist  seeks  to  be 
rid  of.  While  the  name  which  Ribot  has  given  this  type  is 
drawn  from  a  small  school  of  Christian  mvstics,  it  is  most  com- 
monly  met  with  in  India,  especially  among  the  Buddhists ;  and 
its  representatives  are  to  be  found  in  ever}^  religion  and  even 
outside  of  any  recognized  "  religion."  Combined,  however, 
with  the  desire  "  to  be  nothing,  nothing,"  there  usually  goes, 
as  Ribot  has  pointed  out,  a  longing  for  union  w4th  the  Supra- 
personal  which  markedly  modifies  the  purely  negative  desire  for 
mere  self-obliteration,  and  makes  the  Quietist  really  less  the 
enemy  of  self  than  on  the  surface  he  seems.  It  must  be  re- 
membered, moreover,  that  this  type  is  only  one  subdivision  of 
mysticism  as  a  whole. 

This  latter  fact  is  often  forgotten  and  mysticism  as  such  is 
frequently  represented  as  destructive  of  personality,  either  in 
the  actual  result  upon  the  mystic  or  in  the  production  of  a 
pantheistic  theory.     Thus  w^th   the  usual  disregard  for  two 

38  Quoted  by  Preger.     Vol.  Ill,  p.  219. 

8»"L'Ideal  Quietist,"  Rev.  Phil,  for  1915,  pp.  440-54. 


THE  PLACE  AXD  VALUE  OF  MYSTICISM      471 

thirds  of  the  facts  and  the  love  of  sweeping  generalization  which 
seem  to  be  the  special  dangers  of  writers  on  mysticism,  the  au- 
thor of  a  recent  book  on  the  subject  tells  us,  "  The  mystic  knows 
no  personal  God.  Personality  has  limitations,  therefore  away 
with  personality  both  in  God  and  in  man.  .  .  .  The  true  mystic 
refuses  to  think  of  himself  as  standing  before  his  God  as  an  / 
to  a  thou  but  rather  as  an  I  to  a  higher  I.  Or  better  —  he 
wants  to  be  so  absorbed,  so  made  one  with  his  God,  that  there 
exists  no  longer  either  /  or  thou."  *^ 

Statements  of  this  sort  are  so  absurdly  general  and  so  easily 
refuted  by  reference  to  the  history  of  mysticism  that  they  would 
not  be  worth  noting  were  they  not  so  common  and  so  influential 
with  those  who  have  studied  the  subject  but  superficially.  It 
is  true,  as  I  have  pointed  out,  that  many  mystics  have  been  pan- 
theistic and  it  is  also  true  that  the  communion  of  the  human 
with  the  divine,  which  all  mystics  claim  in  some  degree  to  have 
experienced,  tends  to  break  down  their  belief  in  the  sharp  and 
eternal  division  of  the  two  which  the  non  mystical  so  often  re- 
gard as  essential  to  ^'  orthodoxy."  ^^  It  is  also  true  that  cer- 
tain great  mystical  schools,  such  as  that  of  Neoplatonism  and 
that  of  the  monistic  Vedanta  in  India,  have  been  pantheistic  or 
have  denied  the  real  independent  existence  of  human  person- 
ality. But  in  Christianity  mysticism  has  usually  been  of  a 
personal  nature ;  and  it  is  not  true  —  though  it  is  so  often 
thoughtlessly  asserted  —  that  even  the  mystics  of  India  always 
leave  out  personality.  The  majority  of  Indian  mystics  have 
not  been  adherents  of  Shankara's  monistic  Vedanta  but  have 
belonged  to  the  great  bJiaMi  schools  whose  emphasis  has  always 

*o  E.  Lehmann,  "Mysticism  in  Heathendom  and  Christendom"  (London, 
Luzac  &  Co.:  1910),  p.  8.  A  somewhat  similar  view,  though  much  more 
guarded,  and  better  expressed,  will  be  found  in  Professor  Watson's  "  The 
Philosophical  Basis  of  Religion"  (Glasgow,  Macelhose:  1907),  pp.  434- 
440.  In  Professor  Watson's  case,  however,  this  is  due  to  his  taking  the 
term  mysticism  to  denote  a  certain  philosophical  point  of  view.  For  a 
somewhat  similar  reason  Professor  Hall  finds  little  religious  or  ethical 
value  in  Roman  Catholic  mysticism,  identifying  it,  as  he  does,  with  a 
certain  dualistic  and  pantheistic  faith.  See  his  "  History  of  Ethics  within 
Organized  Christianity,"  p.  342flf.  Miss  Sinclair,  while  very  sympathetic 
with  mysticism,  insists  that  it  is  essentiallj'  monistic  and  pantheistic  — 
a  characterization  which  in  her  view  is,  of  course,  laudatory  rather  than 
the  reverse.     "  A  Defence  of  Idealism,"  Chap.  VII, 

*i  Cf .  von  Hugel,  Vol.  II,  pp.  328-29. 


472  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

been  upon  personality.  The  probability  is  that  the  great  ma- 
jority of  mystics,  taken  first  and  last,  have  been  very  far  from 
pantheistic;  and  there  is  nothing  in  the  nature  of  mysticism 
which  logically  involves,  or  necessarily  results  in,  a  loss  of  belief 
in  personality,  either  human  or  divine. 

Even  in  those  cases  where  mysticism  has  been  accompanied  by 
a  loss  or  dimming  of  belief  in  personality  as  a  matter  of  theory, 
it  is  by  no  means  the  rule  that  there  is  a  corresponding  loss  of 
individuality  in  practice.  The  mystic,  in  fact,  is  in  religion  the 
great  individualist.  He  has  for  himself  tasted  and  seen  that 
the  Lord  is  good ;  why  then  needs  he  any  further  witness  1 
I'irmly  planted  on  his  own  irrefutable  and  immediate  experi- 
ence, he  has  an  independence  in  religious  matters  which  his 
neighbors  cannot  share,  and  which  makes  him  relatively  care- 
less both  of  the  authoritv  of  religious  tradition  and  of  the  ai^ 
guments  and  attacks  of  its  critics.  ^'  What  are  antiquated 
Mythuses  to  me  ?  "  cries  Carlyle's  mystic  philosopher.  "  Or 
is  the  God  present,  felt  in  my  own  heart,  a  thing  which  Herr 
von  Voltaire  will  dispute  out  of  me ;  or  dispute  into  me  ?  To 
the  '  Worship  of  Sorrow  '  ascribe  what  origin  and  genesis  thou 
pleasest,  has  not  that  Worship  originated,  and  been  generated ; 
is  it  not  here?  Feel  it  in  thv  heart,  and  then  say  whether  it 
is  of  God!  This  is  Belief;  all  else  is  Opinion, —  for  which 
latter  whoso  will  let  him  worry  and  be  worried.  Neither  shall 
ye  tear  out  one  another's  eyes,  struggling  over  ^  Plenary  Inspir- 
ation,' and  such  like ;  try  rather  to  get  a  little  even  Partial  In- 
spiration, each  of  you  for  yourself.  One  Bible  I  know,  of 
whose  Plenary  Inspiration  doubt  is  not  so  much  as  possible ;  nay 
with  my  own  eyes  I  saw  the  God's  Hand  writing  it ;  thereof  all 
other  Bibles  are  but  Leaves, —  say  in  Picture- Writing  to  assist 
the  weaker  faculty."  ^' 

Repeatedly  in  the  history  of  Christianity  has  this  reliance 
upon  first-hand  experience  led  groups  of  mystics  into  more  or 
less  open  disregard  of  ecclesiastical  authority.  And  even  those 
who  have  been  obedient  and  loving  servants  of  the  Church  and 
have  accepted  her  dogmas  and  the  scriptural  revelations  as  au- 
thoritative, have  reinterpreted  them  in  the  light  of  their  own 
inner  experience.     Hence  the  frequent  use  of  symbolism  by  mys- 

«"  Sartor  Resartus,"  Book  II,  Chap.  IX. 


THE  PLACE  AXD  VALUE  OF  MYSTICISM      473 

tical  writers.  Believing  himself  to  have  known  the  Divine  at 
first  hand,  the  mystic  can  never  again  he  content  with  mere 
second-hand  reports,  coming  from  without  and  unillumined  by 
the  light  within.  Even  the  Bible  has  for  him  a  deeper  meaning 
than  its  merely  historical  and  superficial  aspect,  and  must  be 
interpreted  in  terms  of  his  own  spiritual  life.  Unless  God  speak 
in  the  soul  it  is  vain  to  seek  what  others  report  of  Him.  ^'  The 
outward  word,''  says  Thomas  a  Kempis,  ^'  even  of  Moses  and 
the  prophets,  is  only  letter;  it  cannot  impart  the  spirit,-  Speak 
thou,  God,  Eternal  Truth,  speak  Thou  to  my  soul."  ^^ 

The  doctrines  of  the  historical  religion  which  the  mystic  pro- 
fesses may  gain  in  value  to  him  through  his  very  mysticism, 
being  touched  into  new  life  by  the  vitality  of  his  own  experi- 
ence. But  they  cannot  be  again  as  once  they  were.  Either 
they  must  take  on  a  changed  and  living  aspect,  becoming  now 
chiefly  interpretations  of  the  mystic  experience,  or  else  they  will 
be  thrown  aside  as  no  longer  relevant  to  the  spiritual  life.  Eor 
the  mystic  has  forever  turned  away  from  mere  doctrines,  mere 
creeds,  mere  authorities,  "  as  one  might  penetrate  into  the  in- 
terior of  the  Holy  of  Holies,  leaving  behind  in  the  temple  the 
statues  of  the  gods.  And,"  Plotinus  continues  (for  it  is  from 
him  I  quote),  "  these  he  would  not  see  again  till  he  came  out 
after  having  had  the  vision  of  what  lay  within,  and  having  com- 
muned there  with  what  was  no  statue  or  image,  but  the  Divine 
itself  —  of  which  the  statues  were  but  secondary  copies."  ^* 

When  the  mystic  returns  from  the  "  Holy  of  Holies  "  he 
speaks  with  a  conviction  and  an  authority  quite  unknown  to 
those  who  have  gone  no  further  than  the  temple  and  seen  only 
the  statues  of  the  gods.  It  would  be  a  mistake,  indeed,  to 
affirm  that  the  mystic  experience  invariably  puts  an  end  to  all 
doubt.  Occasionally  it  happens  that  a  mystic  comes  to  question 
whether  there  was  anything  but  delusion  in  what  he  had  for- 
merly considered  the  voice  of  God  within  him.     Thus  even  St. 

43  "  Imitation,"  Book  III,  Chap.  2. 

44  "  Enneads,"  VI,  9,  quoted  from  Bakewell's  "  Source  Book,"  p.  392.  It 
is  largely  this  refusal  of  Mysticism  to  base  itself  upon  the  historical  which 
has  led  the  Ritschlians  to  their  astonishing  assertion  that  there  is  no 
room  for  it  within  Christianity.  Cf.  Hermann,  "  Der  Verkehr  des  Christen 
mit  Gott"  (Stuttgart,  1898),  pp.  28-29;  and  Lehmann,  "Mysticism  in 
Heathendom  and  Christendom,"  Chap.  VI. 


474  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

Teresa  writes  of  herself:  "She  never  undertook  anything 
merely  heeaiise  it  came  to  her  in  prayer.  Although  her  confes- 
sors told  her  that  these  things  came  from  God,  she  never  so 
thoroughly  believed  them  that  she  could  swear  to  it  herself, 
though  it  seemed  to  her  that  they  were  spiritually  safe  because 
of  the  eifects  thereof."  "*''  Yet  this  attitude  of  suspended  judg- 
ment is  certainly  rare  among  the  mystics,  and  the  passage 
just  quoted  from  Teresa  will  hardly  apply  to  the  deeper  of  her 
mystic  experiences.  Thus  she  says  that  in  the  "  fifth  Abode  " 
of  the  "  Interior  Castle,"  —  by  which  she  means  the  more  genu- 
inely spiritual  stages  of  the  mystic  life  —  "  God  establishes  him- 
self within  one's  soul  in  such  a  wav  that  when  the  soul  returns 
to  itself  it  is  impossible  for  it  to  doubt  that  it  has  been  in 
God  and  God  in  it ;  and  this  conviction  remains  so  firmly  im- 
printed upon  one  that  if  one  should  go  for  many  years  without 
being  raised  anew  to  this  blessed  state  he  could  still  never  forget 
the  favor  once  received,  nor  doubt  of  its  realitv."  '^^ 

A  touch  of  mysticism  may  be  quite  enough  to  lend  vitality 
to  one's  religion,  even  when  in  theological  matters  one  has  be- 
come skeptical.  The  religious  agnostic  is  by  no  means  an  un- 
common type,  and  is  more  often  met  with  every  year;  and  it  is 
in  part  the  reality  and  the  living  force  of  the  mystic  experience 
which  makes  this  type  possible.  Many  a  man  of  culture  and 
intellectual  power  who  is  well  versed  in  the  science  and  criticism 
of  our  dav  and  as  a  result  feels  himself  unable  to  subscribe  to 
any  creed  or  even  to  worship  with  any  church,  finds  springing 
up  within  him  a  stream  of  inarticulate  but  genuine  religious  ex- 
perience and  intuition  which  is  to  him  the  very  water  of  life. 
Let  me  here  quote  from  one  such  instance, —  the  confession  of 
a  French  agnostic : 

"  I  seem  to  feel  within  the  depths  of  my  being  an  action,  a 
presence;  in  short  I  seem  to  be  the  object,  even  prior  to  being 
the  subject,  of  an  action  that  is  spiritual.  This  is  in  part 
a  rudimentary,  half-conscious  belief,  in  part  it  is  simply  the  ex- 
pression of  a  fact,  the  testimony  to  a  sort  of  profound  and  vague 
sensation.  I  tell  mvself  that  this  sensation  mav  itself  be  an 
illusion,  that  there  may  be  nothing  real  about  it  apart  from  my 

45"  Vie,"  413f. 

48  "  Le  Chateau  Interieur."     CEuvres.     Vol.  HI,  p.  459. 


THE  PLACE  AKD  VALUE  OF  MYSTICISM      475 

subjectivity ;  but  it  is,  and  that  is  enough  for  me  to  live  by.  .  .  . 
It  is  a  part  of  my  being  and  has  for  the  rest  of  my  being  an  im- 
portance and  a  value  that  are  supreme  —  that  suffices  me.  And 
for  the  rest,  I  tell  myself  that  the  very  fact  that  I  possess  this 
experience  called  ^  religious/  is  a  witness  in  me  to  the  existence 
of  the  inaccessible  reality;  of  the  union  within  my  consciousness 
of  the  me  and  the  not-me ;  that  in  it  I  have  in  some  measure  an 
immediate  knowledge  of  the  roots  of  my  being,  of  a  bond  be- 
tween me  and  something  else,  this  ^  something  else  '  being  neces- 
sarily self-conscious  since  it  passes  within  my  self-conscious- 
ness. .  .  .  And  ju9t  because  I  have  become  agnostic,  and  be- 
cause every  intellectual  formulation  of  the  inaccessible  is  for  me 
simply  a  representation  of  the  Reality,  without  any  value  in  it- 
self, I  feel  myself  on  solid  ground.  I  have  the  experience  there 
within  that  I  have  not  to  act  but  to  receive ;  that  I  have  not  the 
initiative  but  the  duty  of  waiting  and  listening ;  that  the  source 
of  life  is  beyond  the  conscious  self,  for  me,  for  all  men."  ^"^ 

This  man  is  perfectly  capable  of  taking  the  naturalistic  point 
of  view,  of  looking  at  his  religious  experience  objectively  and 
seeing  that  it  might  quite  well  be  classed  as  hallucinatory.  And 
yet  the  experience  for  him  loses  none  of  its  authority,  none  of 
its  certainty.  The  naturalistic  interpretation  he  deems  quite 
consistent  and  tenable ;  yet  for  his  own  part  he  is  convinced  that 
the  religious  explanation  is  the  true  one,  and  his  agnosticism  on 
most  points  of  creed  and  theology  in  no  wise  interferes.  He  re- 
mains a  religious  man  in  spite  of  his  agnosticism,  because  this 
religious  experience  of  his  is  his  very  own,  and  because  it  has 
for  his  life  a  value  that  is  unique  and  supreme. 

To  those  whose  mystical  experience  has  been  of  a  more  intense 
sort,  the  accompanying  certainty  regularly  rules  out  all  ques- 
tioning. "  I  am  as  certain  as  that  I  live,"  says  Eckhart,  "  that 
nothing  is  so  near  to  me  as  God.  God  is  nearer  to  me  than 
I  am  to  myself."  *®  A  modem  mystic.  Dr.  Bucke,  writes  of 
his  own  experience  as  follows :  "  The  vision  lasted  a  few  sec- 
onds and  was  gone ;  but  the  memory  of  it  and  the  sense  of  the 
reality  of  what  it  taught  has  remained  during  the  quarter  of  a 

*7  Quoted  from  Flournoy,  who  reports  the  case  at  length.  See  his  "  Ob- 
servations de  psychologie  religieuse,"  Archives  de  Psychologic,  II,  327-366. 

*8  Meister  Eckhart's  "  Mystische  Schriften  "  put  into  modern  German  by 
Gustav  Landauer,  p.  96. 


476  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

century  which  has  since  elapsed.  I  knew  that  what  the  vision 
showed  was  true,  I  had  attained  to  a  point  of  view  from  which 
I  saw  that  it  must  be  true.  That  view,  that  conviction,  I  may 
say  that  consciousness,  has  never,  even  during  periods  of  deepest 
depression,  been  lost."  *^ 

In  similar  vein  another  contemporary  mystic,  Mr.  Benjamin 
P.  Blood,  says  in  reference  to  his  ovm  mystical  insight: 

"  This  has  been  my  moral  sustenance  since  I  have  known  it. 
In  my  first  printed  mention  of  it  I  declared :  *  The  world  is 
no  more  the  alien  terror  that  was  taught  me.  Spuming  the 
cloud-grimmed  and  still  sultry  battlements  whence  so  lately 
Jehovan  thunders  boomed,  my  gray  gull  lifts  her  wing  against 
the  nightfall,  and  takes  the  dim  leagues  with  a  fearless  eye.' 
And  now,  after  twenty-seven  years  of  this  experience,  the  wing 
is  grayer,  but  the  eye  is  fearless  still,  while  I  renew  and  doubly 
emphasize  that  declaration.  I  know,  as  having  kno^^^l,  the 
meaning  of  Existence ;  the  sane  center  of  the  universe  —  at  once 
the  wonder  and  the  assurance  of  the  soul."  ^^ 

There  is  no  need  of  further  quotation.  If  there  were,  an 
almost  inexhaustible  amount  of  testimony,  drawn  from  the  mys- 
tics of  every  land  and  every  age,  could  be  easily  adduced  to 
show  the  supreme  authority  with  which  "  the  inner  voice " 
speaks,  the  sense  of  certainty  and  infallibility  which  the  mys- 
tical experience  brings  with  it,  to  those  who  have  kno\^Ti  it  di- 
rectly. The  authority  of  tradition,  of  Church  and  Book,  often 
—  and  in  our  day  more  and  more  —  loses  its  force  and  yields  its 
position  before  the  attacks  of  rationalism;  and  reason  is  often 
at  war  with  itself  and  results  either  in  agnosticism  or  in  an 
intellectual  creed  which  may  or  may  not  stand,  but  which  has 
within  it  little  of  the  warm  life  and  throbbing  joy  of  genuine 
religion.  The  authority  of  the  religious  intuition,  the  mystic 
experience,  on  the  other  hand,  is  seldom  questioned,  and  it  car- 
ries with  it  the  very  breath  of  life.  In  spite  of  all  that  intel- 
lectual skepticism  can  say,  it  claims  for  itself  an  unfaltering 
credence,  and  an  absolute  authority,  which  is  seldom  challenged. 

*9  Quoted  by  James  from  Dr.  Bucke's  privately  printed  pamphlet  which 
preceded  his  "  Cosmic  Consciousness."     See  the  "  Varieties,"  p.  309. 

50  Quoted  by  James  in  his  last  published  article,  "  A  Pluralistic  Mystic," 
Hibhert  Journal,  VIII,  753,  and  reprinted  in  his  posthumous  "  Memoriea 
and  Studies." 


THE  PLACE  A:N^D  VALUE  OF  MYSTICISM      477 

And  if  it  ever  comes  to  argumentation  at  all,  there  is  one  argu- 
ment in  favor  of  the  acceptance  of  this  inner  experience  at  its 
face  value  which,  to  him  who  has  known  it,  is  usually  quite  de- 
cisive :  namely  its  value  for  life.  In  the  words  of  our  French 
agnostic,  quoted  above,  it  is  "  enough  to  live  by,"  "  it  is  a  part 
of  my  being  and  has  for  the  rest  of  my  being  an  importance  and 
a  value  that  are  supreme,  and  that  suffices  me."  We  outsiders 
may  classify  it  learnedly  as  "  phenomene  Jiallucinatoire  " ;  but 
the  man  himself  knows  that  it  is  good  to  live  by,  life-giving, — 
and  ''  cela  me  suffit." 

In  our  recognition  of  the  new  confidence  which  mysticism 
brings  to  religion  we  should  be  careful  to  avoid  the  not  uncom- 
mon extreme  of  regarding  it  as  the  only  form  of  the  religious 
life.  There  are  many  good  people  whose  attitude  toward  the 
Determiner  of  Destiny,  though  central  in  their  lives,  can  hardly 
be  called  mystical.     It  is  surely  a  mistake  to  say,  with  a  recent 

«  *.  c 

and  most  admirable  writer  on  mysticism,  that  "  the  man  who 
has  no  mysticism  in  him  is  the  abnormal  man,"  and  that  "  one 
cannot  be  really  good  without  being,  in  some  sort  and  degree, 
mystical."  ^^  Many  truly  religious  people  are  emphatically 
not  mystical  and  mysticism  is  by  no  means  essential  to  religion. 
One  may  indeed  even  question  the  propriety  of  the  oft-heard  as- 
sertion that  "  mysticism  is  the  heart  of  religion  "  —  unless,  in- 
deed, one  be  willing  to  admit  that  religion  of  a  very  real  sort 
may  get  on  without  a  heart. 

To  exaggerate  the  importance  of  mysticism  is  to  do  it  no 
real  service.  Nor  will  its  good  name,  among  thoughtful  peo- 
ple, be  greatly  enhanced  by  the  ardent  advocacy  it  is  receiving 
at  the  hands  of  many  glib  talkers  and  writers  to  whom  philos- 
ophy means  theosophy  and  whose  "  ISTew  Psychology  "  finds  the 
solution  of  all  problems  in  the  "  Subconscious."  Possibly  an- 
other cause  for  the  ill-repute  into  which  mysticism  is  in  danger 
of  falling  is  the  exaggerated  importance  that  has  sometimes 

51  J.  W.  Buckham,  "Mysticism  and  Modern  Life"  (New  York,  Abingdon 
Press:  1015),  pp.  lO.I  and  HJo.  It  is  only  fair  to  add  that  Professor  Buck- 
ham  does  not  seriously  moan  to  identify  religion  with  mysticism.  In  fact 
he  says,  in  another  connection,  "This  by  no  means  makes  mysticism  equiva- 
lent to  religion.  One  may  be  religious,  earnestly  religious,  whose  faith 
in  God  is  —  or  is  conceived  to  be  —  a  rational  inference  or  an  accepted 
belief,  not  an  immediate  experience"  (p.  18). 


478  THE  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS 

been  attributed  to  feelinp;  bv  variona  religious  bodies  and  the 
consequent  neglect  which  the  other  functions  of  the  mind  have 
suffered  at  their  hands.  Professor  Coe,  for  example,  has 
pointed  out  '^  that  Roman  Catholicism  has  usually  emphasized 
in  its  typical  saints  the  sentimental  and  emotional,  while  Pro- 
testantism as  a  whole  has  neglected  the  masculine  as  compared 
with  the  feminine  virtues,  and  certain  Protestant  denominations 
have  made  feeling  the  one  essential  in  religion.  The  word 
"  spirituality,"  he  insists,  in  its  common  use  has  come  to  mean 
the  soft  and  passive,  or  even  the  unmanly;  and  it  is  therefore 
high  time  that  a  protest  should  be  made  against  this  senti- 
mental view  of  religion. 

That  Professor  Coe's  words  apply  very  accurately  to  a  con- 
siderable amount  of  past  and  present  religious  talk  is  not  to 
be  denied.  Yet  I  for  one  cannot  feel  that  the  danger  of  our 
becoming  too  emotional  or  too  contemplative  is  really  very  great. 
Doubtless  there  was  a  time  when  this  was  the  case, —  when  other- 
wordliness  was  taught  and  activity  forgotten.  But  is  this  really 
the  situation  to-day  ?  Will  any  one  who  has  been  to  church  in 
the  last  fifteen  years  seriously  affirm  that  the  importance  of  mys- 
ticism and  of  the  "  spiritual  life  "  is  really  being  over-empha- 
sized in  our  pulpits?  Do  not  the  signs  of  the  times  point,  in 
fact,  quite  in  the  opposite  direction  ?  Certainly  it  would  seem 
that  the  chief  trend  of  things  today  is  toward  practical 
efficiency  and  "  cash  value  "  results.  The  practical  point  of 
view  w^hether  known  as  Pragmatism  or  by  some  other  title  is 
still  winning  converts  in  the  philosophic  field,  while  Functional- 
ism  is  having  things  all  its  own  way  in  psychology.  Thought 
and  feeling,  we  are  told,  have  at  last  been  shown  up  in  their 
true  light  as  merely  tools,  means,  instruments,  while  the  great 
aim  and  the  only  value  of  life  is  action.  As  things  are  going 
at  present,  therefore,  I  apprehend  that  there  will  be  little  dan- 
ger, in  the  immediate  future  at  any  rate,  of  too  great  emphasis 
on  contemplation  and  mysticism. 

The  danger,  in  fact,  seems  to  me  to  be  chiefly  on  the  other 
side.  In  our  very  laudable  enthusiasm  over  action  and  social 
morality  and  class  equality  and  hygienic  conditions  and  interna- 
tional policies  and  tangible  results,  we  are  beginning  to  forget 

62  See  his  chapter  on  "  Spirituality  "  in  his  "  The  Spiritual  Life." 


THE  PLACE  AKD  VALUE  OF  MYSTICISM      479 

the  inner  life  of  the  soul,  the  quiet  turning  of  the  spirit  back 
upon  itself,  which  in  the  rhythmic  life  of  man  is  quite  as  im- 
portant as  is  the  outward-going  impulse.  In  our  safe  and  sane 
and  sober  fear  of  emotionalism  and  sentimentality,  we  seem 
tempted  to  disown  the  spiritual  nature  which  is  part  of  our  hu- 
man heritage.  The  glow  of  feeling,  the  sense  of  the  Infinite, 
the  intuition  of  a  Beyond,  the  aspiration  for  the  more  than 
earthly,  these  are  and  always  must  be  an  important,  if  not  an 
essential,  part  of  religion.  And  they  are  genuinely  human  as 
well, —  as  genuinely  natural  ends  as  are  the  biological  processes 
of  digestion,  assimilation,  and  reproduction.  It  is  certainly  of 
great  importance  that  we  should  consider  what  we  and  our  slum 
friends  shall  eat  and  what  we  shall  drink  and  wherewithal  we 
shall  be  clothed;  but  there  are  one  or  two  other  things  which 
it  is  well  to  seek,  and  perhaps  the  "  kingdom  of  God  "  is  one  of 
them.  And  while  many  will  respond  that  the  "  kingdom  of 
God  ^^  consists  just  in  the  proper  physical  and  social  conditions, 
I  cannot  forget  that  one  who  spoke  with  some  authority  on  this 
matter  said,  "  The  kingdom  of  God  is  within  you.'' 

In  short  every  age  has  need  of  "  the  contemplative  life,''  and 
ours  is  no  exception  to  the  rule.  It  might,  in  fact,  be  main- 
tained that  our  twentieth  century  stands  in  special  need  of  it. 
When,  indeed,  could  its  importance  be  more  properly  empha- 
sized than  at  a  time  when  Activity  is  the  shibboleth  of  theory 
and  Efficiency  the  motto  of  practice,  when  we  are  brought  up  to 
feel  that  at  every  moment  we  must  be  working  or  else  we  must 
be  amused,  and  taught  to  believe  that  most  real  values  are  to  be 
appraised  in  terms  of  economic  productivity  ?  Even  social  jus- 
tice and  college  settlements  and  industrial  democracy  and  in- 
ternational amity  are  not  enough  to  satisfy  the  full  warm  life 
of  the  soul.  The  soul  needs  a  larger  draft  of  air,  a  less  circum- 
scribed horizon,  than  even  these  excellent  things  can  give.  It 
needs  a  chance  for  spreading  its  wings,  for  looking  beyond  itself, 
beyond  the  immediate  environment,  and  for  quiet  inner  growth, 
which  is  best  to  be  found  in  that  group  of  somewhat  indefinite 
but  very  real  experiences  —  aspiration,  insight,  contemplation 
—  which  may  well  be  called  the  mystic  life. 


i:n'dex 


Adams,  Henry,  295,  296 

Addison,  449 

Adler,  230 

Adolescence,   14,   108-122,    124,    125, 

320,  354 
Esthetic  Sense,  278,  279,  280,  281, 

355,  356 
Agniola,  da  Foliguo,  406 
Al  Ghazzali,  128,  390 
Allen,  317,  319,  321,  324,  333 
Alvarez  de  Paz,  377,  379,  380,  381, 

387,  399,  404 
Ames,  8,  10,   11,  40,  201,  208,  209, 

259,  260,  311 
Amiel,  226 
Amos,  67,  73 
Anesaki,  129 

Appollonius  of  Tyana,  128 
Ardigo,  126,  127,  128,  156 
Aristotle,  24,  42,  198,  205,  266 
Armstrong,  215 
Arnold,  271 
Arreat,  235,  236 
Art,  278-281,  301 
Arya-Samaj,  290,  291 
Asceticism,  375-386 
Aston,  273 
Attention,    124,    169,   170,  271,   314, 

316,  360,  382,  387,  389,  390,  392 
Atwater,  303,  304 
Augustine,  16,  34,  135,  148,  155,  238, 

344,  345,  352 
Austerity,  379-383 
Australian,  76,  263,  272,  273 
Authority,    14,    15,    16,    74,    75,    79, 

99-102,    116,    210-213,    222,    225, 
,  226,  242,  248,  299,  476 
Auto-suggestion,  179,  180,  335,  340, 

387,  450,  451,  453,  463 

Bacon,  42 

Bagehot,  88 

Bain,  210 

Baldwin,  76,  77,  83,  93,  94,  99 


Ballard,  72 

Bardsley,  182 

Barnes,  96,  97,  101 

Bart,  100 

Bauke,  31 

Beck,  317,  319,  321,  324,  334 

Begbie,  155,  156,  158,  160 

Belief,  85,  89,  99,  100-102,  172,  190, 

195-199,  238,   257,  258,  264,  269, 

270,  271,  284,  285,  303,  305,  307, 

335,  349,  367,  474-477 
Bentley,  169 
Bergson,  54,  60 
Besant,  Mrs.,  276 
Bhagavad  Gita,  349,  376,  377,  389, 

419,  429 
Bhagavan  Das,  153,  154 
Bhandarkar,  291 
Billia,   33 
Binet,  160 
Binet-Sangl6,  461. 
Bippin  Chandra  Pal,  131 
Bishop,  Mrs.  Bird,  273 
Bleuler,  112 
Boas,  75,  266 
Blood,  476 

Bodily  Effects  of  Revivals,  187-190 
Bonaventura,  399 

Book  of  the  Dead,  234,  235,  246,  313 
Bousset,  7 
Boutroux,  41,  43,  367,  374,  443,  445, 

453,  463 
Bradley,  43 

Brainerd,  145-148,  154,  156 
Brahman,  22,  131,  347,  352,  427,  470 
Brahmo  Samaj,  131,  137 
Breath-control,  388-390 
Brested,  313 

Briar  Brae  Lodge,  156-158 
Bright,  306 
Brinton,  258,  262 
Brockman,  97,  110,  112,  113 
Brown,  A.  W.,  97,  100 
Brown,  E.  P.,  191 


481 


482 


INDEX 


Browning,  384,  385,  431,  438,  439 

Buber,  468 

Bucke.  213,  475 

Buckham,  477 

Buddha,  12,  20,  73,  90,  128,  186,  275, 

204,  334 
Buddhism,  4,  12,  16,  20,  21,  00,  166, 

251,  275,  276,  292-205,  316,  334, 

376,  377,  426.  427,  431,  437,  470 
Buddhist,  Monk,  83,   159,  294,  334, 

335 
Budge,  234,  235 
Bunvan,  140-145,  147,  148,  150,  154, 

156 
Burgen,  97 
Burr,  147,  150,  154,  160,  467-469 

Cabot,  329 

Calkins,  456 

Calvin,  149 

Carlyle,  95,  96,  472 

Carpenter,  E.,  50 

Carpenter,  W.  B.,  53 

Carrington,  248 

Catherine  of   Genoa,   369,  380,  381, 

465 
Catholic  Church,  See  Roman  Catholi- 
cism 
Ceremonies,  See  Ritual 
Chaitanya,  128,  129,  168 
Chantal,    Frangoise,    432,    433 
Charbonnier,  380,  381,  460 
Chase,  58 
Chastity,  379 
Childhood,  Religion  of,   14,  91-107, 

210,  302,  318 
Chrisman,  97 
Christ,  see  Jesus 
Christianity,    16,   90,    166,   248-251, 

276,  295,  376 
Clark,  174 

Co-conscious,  The,  54-60,  66,  67,  161 
Coe,  43,  92,  98,   103,   110,  161,   180, 

181,   184,  338,   411,  448-451,  456, 

478 
Cognitive    Element    in    Mysticism, 

349-351,  400-413 
Coit,  74,  174,  267,  282,  288 
Cole,  248 
Communion,  324-327,  331,  332,  342, 

343,  347,  348,  364,  470 


Conderc,  Thercse,  416 
Conservatism,  14-16,  61-63,  79,  82- 

90 
Conversion,  122-164 
Cooley,  76,  326 
Cooper,  383 
Cornford,  76,  81 
Counter-conversion,    126,    127  ** 
Creed,  177,  200,  283,  285,  302 
Crowd,  The,  169-174 
Cult,  83-85,  195,  201,  255-289,  299 
Cutten,  193 

Dallmeyer,  186 

Daniels,  110 

Darwin,  205,  213 

Davenport,    167,   188,   189,   192,   193 

Dawson,  103 

Dayanand,  292 

Death,  225,  228,  229,  231,  232,  243, 

244,  248,  304,  305 
Delacroix,   374,   434,   435,  436,   437, 

438,  439,  440,  452,  464 
Denby,  403 
Depression,  109,  HI,  113,  130,  134, 

135,  138,  141,  147,  352,  353,  354, 

431,  432,  433,  435 
Dermer,  282 
Descartes,  217 

Description,  24,  25,  26,  29,  35 
D'Estrella,  72 
Deussen,  347,  389,  426 
Devendranath  Tagore,  115,  133-137 
Dewey,  89,  171 

Dickinson,  L.,  2,  16,  230,  236 
Digamma,  317,  332,  333 
Dike,  193 
Dill,   128 
Dionysos,  The  Areopagite,  167,  365, 

401,  402,  414 
Distraction,  371,  382 
Dorotheas,  378 
Doubt,    99-102,    109,    111,    115-119, 

191,  319,  320,  474,  475 
Drake,  203,  329 
Dreamer,  49 
Dubois,  Abbe,  383 
Dubois,  P.,  462 
Duprat,  369,  372 
Durkheim,  4,  11,  69,  76,  77,  79,  80, 

82,  87,  261,  265,  279 


INDEX 


483 


Ebell,  98 

Eckhart,  349,  414,  475 

Ecstasy,  394-429,  434-436,  442,  464, 
4C5,  467-469 

Edwards,  17,  146,  150,  175,  178,  180, 
189 

Egypt,  234,  235,  246,  251,  272,  276, 
313 

Elizabeth  of  Schonau,  404 

Ellis,  H.,  116 

Ellis,  W.  T.,  186 

Eleusinian  Mysteries,   128,   167,  289 

Emerson,  228,  229,  321,  322 

Emlein,  102,  103 

Emotion,  18,  62,  110,  123-125,  135, 
167,  168,  172,  174,  175,  177,  178, 
182-185,  190,  192,  203,  214-217, 
271,  280,  281,  286,  308,  345,  346, 
349,  354,  358,  388,  397,  411,  416, 
424,  425 

Episcopal  Church,  15,  153,  281,  306 

Eucken,  444 

Everett,  2 

Ewer,  405,  407,  408,  411 

Explanation,  24-27,  35,  99,  455-457 

Ezekiel,  67,  404 


Fashion,  78,  87,  88 

Farquhar,  276,  291,  383 

Faunce,  303 

Fear,  71,  172,  178,  352 

Ferguson,  5 

Fetichism,  272,  273 

File,  10,  77 

Fletcher,  158 

Floumoy,   351,   407,   410,  419,   428, 

436,  469,  475 
Follett,  68,  73 
Foster,  7,  43 
Fox,  34,  67,  155 
Francesca  Romana,  429 
Francis  of  Assisi,  356,  465 
Francis  Xavier,  406,  408 
Francken,  234,  235 
Francois  de  Sales,  328,  343,  386,  399, 

427,  434 
Frazer,  272,  310,  312 
Freud,  37,  54,  55,  61,  62,  111,   160, 

217,  331,  403,  450 
Friedmann,   112 


Fringe  Region,  50-52,  60,  61,  79,  362, 

370,  452 
Fryer,  176,  188,  191,  192 
Fursac  de,  176,  192,  193 

Galton,  61,  380,  404 

Garman,  53 

Gautama,  see  Buddha 

Generalization,  24,  25 

Gerhardt,  301 

Gerson,  399,  412 

Gibbon,  283 

Gill,  152 

Gillen,  272,  311 

Gladstone,  306 

Glossolalia,  183-187 

God,  20,  39,  41,  50,  63,  81,  94,  101, 
102,  105,  106,  132,  133,  137,  200, 
201,  205-209,  227,  250,  254,  269, 
275,  278,  341,  342,  353,  362,  442, 
446,  471 

God,  belief  in,  136,  139,  195-254,  310 

Goethe,  230,  244 

Goldenweiser,  261,  262 

Goodhart,  51,  57 

Gore,  277 

Gosse,  101 

Greek  Orthodox  Church,  153 

Griffith-Jones,  239 

Gulick,  110 

Guy  on,  Madame,  317,  396,  416,  425, 
432,  434,  437,  438 

Habit,  63,  86,  210,  211,  213,  219, 
225,  226,  265-267,  318,  388,  395 

Hall,  G.  S.,  98,  103,  110,  251,  252, 
329,  331,  332 

Hall,  T.  C,  251,  471 

Harrison,  F.,  298 

Harrison,  J.,  81 

Hardy,  294 

Harnack,  277 

Hart,  B.,  55 

Hart,  E.  B.,  157 

Hartland,  262,  264,  265,  310 

Hartmann,  von,  45 

Hartshorne,  302 

Haynes,  382 

Hebert,  4,  16,  417,  425 

Hegel.  371 

Heidel,  128,  168 


484 


INDEX 


Hell,  Belief  in,  178 

Heuke,   1S6.   1S7,  189,  258,  269 

Herman.  374,  37G,  460 

Hermann,  473 

Hewitt.  301 

Hildeparde  of   Binpen,  404 

Hinduism.    115.    121,    128,    153,    154, 

166,   248-251,   271,    273-275,   285, 

286,   290,  376,  383,  426 
Hinkle,  55 
Him,  Y.,  279 
Hocking,  70,  71,  234,  327,  328,  330, 

434 
Hoffding,  35,  43,  82-84,  125,  127,  216, 

254 
Holt,  43 

Horton,  421,  422 
Howells,  276 

Hymn,  The,  176,  179,  180,  301,  302 
Hubert,  81,  265 
Hugel,  von,  13,  15-18,  369,  380,  381, 

465,  471 
Hugo  of  St.  Victor,  398,  416,  417 
Hume,  25,  196,  197,  199 
Hutton,  11 
Huxley,  237 
Hylan,  302 
Hyslop,  227 
Hysteria,  371,  372,  462-464 

Ideo-motor  Action,  77,  9o,  169,  268, 

269 
Idolatory,  273-277,  287 
Imagination,  96,  97,   103,   197,   199, 

203-205,    242-249,   277,   278,   284, 

325,  335,  343,  367,  387,  390 
Imitation,  77,  78,  87-89,  92,  95,  99, 

118,   169,   170,  172,  176,   180,  181, 

187,  190,  325,  326,  443,  451 
Immediacy,  366,  400,  401,  414,  415, 

444,  447 
Immortality,  Belief  in,  224-254 
India,    19,  'l86,    248-250,    255,    276, 

308,  313,  373,  375,  377,  383,  388, 

419,  427 
Individual,    10-12,   68-90,  222,  258, 

261 
Inhibition,  171,  172,  174,  177,  181- 

183,  190,   191,  194,  387,  395 
Insanity,  192,  193 
Inspiration,  65 


Israel,  19 

Jacks,  336 

Jainism,  166,  276,  292-294,  334,  378, 
380 

James,  H.,  237 

James,  W.,  7,  34,  48,  60,  66,  67,  71, 
72,  74,  111,  124,  126.  151,  152,  154, 
160-162,  169,  187,  202,  207,  213, 
222,  328,  350,  354,  385,  389,  400, 
407,  445,  448,  449,  453,  459,  467, 
476 

James-Lange  Theory,  214,  281 

Janes,  193 

Janet.  P.,  59,  416,  420,  423,  424,  459 

Jastrow,  Joseph,  50,  51,  212 

Jastrow,  Morris,  69,  311 

Jesus,  12,  19,  67,  73,  122,  160,  211, 
225,  226,  246,  312,  338,  374,  376, 
391,  402,  438,  461 

Jevons,  11,  265 

John,  of  the  Cross,  349,  431,  434, 
467 

Joli,  364,  384,  385,  433,  434,  464 

Jones,  104,  106,  348,  374 

Joseph,  Herman,  408 

Joy,  109,  133,  136,  137,  159,  160, 
271,  334,  351,  354,  356,  358,  361, 
383,  396,  406,  431-433,  435,  441 

Judd,  2 

Jung,  55,  112,  331 

Kali,   129,   130,   133 

Kant,  19,  28,  205,  213 

Kentucky  Revival,  188,  189 

Keshab  Chunder  Sen,  131 

King,  I.,  2,  11,  70,  76,  207,  209,  258- 

262 
Kirkland,  228 
Kirkpatrick,  53 
Kline,  303 
Kraft-Ebbing,  370 
Krishna,  128,  377 

Lancaster,  109,  110 
Lao-tze,  414 
Lateau,  Louise,  381 
Latimer,  109 
Le  Bon,  173 
Lehmann,  471,  473 
Leibniz,  45,  69 


INDEX 


485 


Lejeune,  326-328,  360,  372,  375-377, 
379,  380,  386,  387,  392 

Leuba,  1,  20,  71,  99,  110,  190,  203, 
230,  232,  238-241,  248,  262,  265, 
310,  350,  351,  368,  396,  409,  416, 
417,  427,  429,  454,  455,  462 

Levitation,  421,  422 

I^vv-Bruhl,  80-82 

Lewis,  50 

Ligature,  422-424 

Liki,    166 

Lipps,  54 

Locke,  29,  69 

Lodge,  227 

Lombard,  187 

Louis,  266 

Lourdes,  323 

Love,  178,  334,  349,  365-368,  396, 
425 

Loyola,  367,  390,  391,  406 

Luther,  67,  148-150,  301 

Lyall,  273 

Macaulay,  149 

McDougal,  W.,  71,  72,  74,  77,  214, 

265,  314,  456 
MacDougal,  R.,  76 
Macdonald,  373,  389,  390 
Mach,  43 

Macintosh,   38,   43 
McNemar,  188,  189 
Macnicol,  168 
Magic,  205,  310,  311 
Mahayana  Buddhism,  129,  156,  203, 

437 
Maine  de  Biran,  355,  356,  371,  464 
Mana,  262-264,  287,  310-312 
Marcus  Aurelius,  329 
Marett,  262,  310-312 
Marguerite  Marie  Alocoque,  317,  465 
Marie,  405,  460 
Marshall,  50,  51,  70 
Martineau,  16 
Maturity,  119,  120,  320 
Maudsley,  460 
Mauss,  81,  265 
Maynard,  Father,  412 
Meader,  248 
Meditation,  316,  329,  360,  388,  390- 

392,  395 
Meditative  Stage,  374,  387,  390-392 


Methodist  Church,  150,  301 
Methods  of  Mysticism,  359-362,  372- 

392 
Middle  Ages,  14,  117,  222,  238,  276, 

301,  375,  385 
Miracle,  26,  27,  445,  446 
Mobius,  30,  43 
Moerchen,  384 
Mohammed,  67,  73,  84,  90 
Mohammedanism,  166,  202,  316,  377 
Monoideism,  340,  414,  415,  424,  463 
Montesquieu,  271 
Montmorand,    383,    384,    418,    431, 

464 
Morality,   7-10,    12,    14,    19,   20,   21, 

104,  122,  123,  132,  182,  303,  375 
More,  43 

Morse,  317,  319,  321,  324,  333 
Moses,  193 
Miiller,    10,    11,    75,    115,    130,    132, 

427 
Miiller-Freienfels,  280,  302 
Miinsterberg,  31,  43,  53 
Murisier,    339,    371,    372,    414,    415, 

425,  433,  460,  462,  467 
Music,  176,  177,  301,  303 
Myers,  46-48,  53,  64,  227,  328 
Mystic  life,  the,  394,  398,  430-441, 

479 
Mysticism,  14,  17-19,  119,  229,  247, 

324r-328,  337-479 

Nassau,  272,  277 

Naville,  355 

Necke,  111 

Neoplatonism,  363-365,  426,  471 

Nichiren,  129 

Nicholson,  128 

Obedience,  379 

Objective    Worship,    279,    280,    290, 

291,  295-301,  307,  308 
Ogden,  456 
Old  Age,  14,  120 
Ossory,  Bishop  of,  50 

Pacheu,  337,  376,  404,  440,  442,  454, 

455 
Palmer,  10 
Pascal,  220.  375,  376 
Pathological  Tendencies,  64-67,  182- 


486 


INDEX 


193,  339,   340,   369-372,  404,  405, 

420-424,  459-466 
Patmore,  418 
Patten,  11 
Paul,    67.    148,    155,    160,    184,    185, 

222,  374,  439, 
Paul,  Pastor,  186,  187 
Pearson,  43 

Pentecost,  174,  175,  184,  185 
Peirce,  C.  S.,  210 
Perry,  2,  43 
Peterson,  58 
Petronius,  71 
Pierce,  53 

Pierre  d'Alcantara,  381 
Pillsbur.v,  350 

Pittsburgh  Bible  Institute,  322 
Plato,  228 
Plotinus,  363-365,  401,  402,413,  414, 

473 
Plutarch,   128 
Poincaire,  43 
Porter,  72 

Posture,  314,  315,  388 
Ponlain.  ''">.  354,  355,  302,  393,  396- 

398,  399,  404-409,   412,  416,  417, 

421,  423,  436 
Poverty,  379 
Pratt,  13,  52,  98,  107,  204,  209-211, 

215,  216,  233,  250,  272,  276, 

286,  291-293,  321,  350,  358,  361, 

447 
Prayer,  101,  117,  176,  195,  284,  285, 

297,  301,  302,  307,  308,  310-336, 

360,  361 
Preger,  382,  383 

Priest,  15,  18,  255,  256,  297,  298 
Prime,  175,  193 
Primitive    Credulity,    99,    170,    190, 

191,  210,  213,  219,  225,  226 
Prince,  30,  37,  53,  55,  57,  58,  65,  66, 

160,  161,  331,  450 
Protestantism,     113-115,    204,    211, 

283,   295-298,    300-305,    307,    308, 

373,  478 
Psychology,  28-31,  35-37,  41,  42,  45, 

160,  453-457 
Psychology  of  Religion,  4,  22,  31-42, 

151,  152,  154,  336 
Public  Worship,  See  Cult 
Purgative  Stage,  374 


Questionnaire,  32,  33,  34,  217 

Ramakrishna,  115,  129-133,  376,  408, 

426,  427,  436 
Ram  Mohun  Roy,  136,  376 
Ranson,  324,  325 

Rationalism,    14,    16,    17,    239,   240, 

299 

Ratisbonne,  Alphonse,  160,  162 

Reason,  See  Thought 

Reekenbergius,  427 

Reisner,  83 

Religion,  1-9,  15,  60-63,  68,  70,  71, 
73,  75,  79-82,  89,  90,  92,  94,  102, 
103,  120,  121,  222,  269,  285,  310 

Religious  Feeling,  18,  19,  105-107, 
150,  214-217,  223,  225,  229,  250, 
276,  284-287,  300,  302,  303,  341- 
353,  367 

Religious  Instinct,  69-72 

Revivals,  173-194 

Rhys  Davids,  Mrs.,  159 

Rhythm,  165-168,  280,  301,  430,  431, 
433 

Ribet,  372,  374,  394,  399,  401,  416, 
421,  422 

Ribot,  53,  71,  414,  415,  470 

Richard  of  St.  Victor,  416 

Rig  Veda,  275,  292 

Ritual,  255,  256,  258-261,  263,  266- 
269,  276,  277,  282,  283,  288,  290- 
294,  297-299,  302,  305-307,  313, 
314,  316,   317 

Rivers,  313 

Roberts,  Evan,  189 

Robinson,  203,  205,  207 

Rodriguez,   Alphonse,   343 

Rohde,  167 

Rolland,  320 

Roman  Catholicism,  114,  115,  121, 
153,  154,  168,  204,  211,  271,  276, 
283,  284,  295-300,  308,  316,  322, 
326,  373,  378,  379,  386,  442,  478 

Ross,  78 

Rottger,  103 

Royce,  43,  76,  94,  123,  201,  207,  222, 
330,  345,  356 

Rubanowitsch,    186 

Russell,  B.,  5 

Russell,  J.  E.,  58 

Ruysbroek,  425 


INDEX 


487 


Sabbath,  166 

St.  Cyr,  218,  220 

Saint  EVremond,  218 

Saint,  the,  365 

Sanday,  49,  50 

Sarkar,  129,  168 

Scaramelli,  374,  399,  404,  421,  423, 

429 
Schaflf,  277 

Schiller,  232,  235,  248,  251 
Schleiermacher,  6 
Schreiber,  98 
Schroeder,  111,  112 
Science,  22-28,  35,  38,  39,  43,  45,  63, 

241,  445-447,  453-456 
Scotus,  Ergena,  365 
Schutz,  31 
Segond,  314,  329 
Self,  108,  110,  122-124,  130-132,  135, 

138,  144,  230,  327,  329,  330,  355, 

358,  371,  376,  379,  384 
Sellars,  77 
Seneca,  128 
Sense  Perception,  197,  198,  202,  272- 

277,  350 
Sentiment,  74,  214,  307 
Sermon,  the,  177-179,  289,  303,  306 
Sex,  110-113,  417-420 
Shaivism,  419 
Shand,  74,  214 
Sharpe,  442 
Shepherd,  98 
Shinn,  98 

Shiva,  202,  274,  275,  285,  286 
Shway  Yoe  (J.  G.  Scott),  295 
Sidis,  51,  57,  65,  160,  162,  163,  171, 

331,  450 
Sin,  Sense  of,  111-115,  117,  131,  132, 

134,  139,   140-145,   147,  149,  152- 

155,  319,  320,  353 
Sinclair,  50,  471 
Smith,  201,  258 
Snowden,  50,  301 
Society,  10-12,  68-90,  92,  200,  258- 

261 
Society  for  Ethical  Culture,  20 
Spell,  311-314 
Spencer,  B.,  272,  311 
Spencer,  H.,  165,  308,  430 
Spiddle,  232,  240 
Spinoza,  16,  39,  205,  308 


Spiritual  Marriage,  436-441 

Sprague,  193 

Stahlin,  33,  34 

Starbuck,  60,  70,  103,  109,  110,  112- 

115,    117,   150-152,   154,   156,   193, 

194 
Stead,  181,  182,  193 
Stephen,  360 
Stevenson,  Mrs.   Sinclair,  293,  378, 

380,  383 
Stolz,  314,  316,  323 
Storm  and  Stress,  109,  111,  115,  132, 

154 
Stover,  256 
Stout,  48,  350 
Stratton,  204,  230,  269 
Street,  98 
Strong,  327 
Suarez,  374,  404 
Subconscious,    the,    45-67,    160-163, 

371,  439-441,  448,  450 
Subjective  Worship,  279,  280,  289- 

295,  300-309 
Subliminal  Self,  46-48,  49,  50,  58,  59 
Sufis,  the,  128,  373,  389,  390 
Suggestion,  See  Imitation 
Sully,  98 

Sumner,  265,  266,  289 
Sunday,  Billy,  175,  177,  178,  191 
Super,  10 
Supernatural,  the,  37-39,  63,  64,  250, 

372,  442,  443,  445,  446 
Surin,  380 

Suso,  382-384 

Sutta  Nipata,  377 

Suzuki,  129,  437 

Swettenham,  170 

Symbolism,   205,   206,  278,  285-289 

Tanner,  98,  220,  221 

Taylor,  A,  E.,  31,  123 

Taylor,  B.  S.,  178 

Taylor,  H.  O.,  404 

Tauler,  346,  348,  386,  438,  467,  470 

Tarde,  78,  82,  83,  169 

Tennant,   173 

Telepathy,  64,  338,  453 

Teresa,  34,  317,  349,  355,  369,  381, 
385,  391,  398,  399,  402-404,  408, 
411-413,  417,  420,  422-424,  427, 
430-432,  434,  465,  466,  474 


488 


INDEX 


Theologia  Germanica,  346,  374,  431, 

439 
Theology,  38,  40,  62,  63,  76,  85,  87- 

90,  92,  96-102,  113,  117,  119,  126, 

148-150,  153,  154,  160,  200,  450 
Tliespesius,   128 

Thomas   Aquinas.    127,    196,    199 
Thomas    a    Kempis,    352,    353,    356, 

358,  361,  473 
Thorndike,  71,  77,  169 
Thought,  16,  17,  69,  73,  98,  99,  103, 

116,   123,   124,   127,   128,  132,   135, 

138,    139,   177,    190,    191,  203-205, 

210,  212,   213,  222,  225-229,  239, 

240,  299,  300,  392,  400 
Tiele,  10,  11,  257,  258,  260 
Tirthankara,  167,  276,  293 
Titchener,  30,  350 
Todas,  the,  313 
Tolstoi,  138-140,  156 
Tonnies,  77 
Toy,  258 
Tracy,  94 

Tradition,  14-16,  74,  78,  82-90,  222 
Traherne,  357 
Trance,  129,  340,  349,  425-429,  449, 

450 
Trevelyan,  284,  306 
True,    124 
Tuckett,  322 
Tufts,  89 
Turner,  273 
Tylor,  258,  260 
Tyrrell,  15,  16,  34,  97,  100,  107,  218, 

286,  287,  296,  364 

Unconscious,  the,  40,  53-55,  161,  163 
Underhill,  374,  444-447,  453,  467 
Unitarian  Church,   16,   153 
Unitive  Stage,  374,  394 
Upanishads,  22,   136,  250,  349,  376, 
413,  426,  428 

Vaishnavism,  168,  419 


Via  Negativa,  413-416 

Vishnu,  133 

Vision,  340,  364,  402-404 

Wallas.  77 

Ward,  27,  51,  350 

Warschauer,  215 

Watson,  A.  C,  2,  3 

Watson,  J.,  471 

W^ebb,  82 

Webster,  263 

Wells,  343 

Welsh   Revival,   the,    175,   178,   187, 

189,  191-193 
Weinel,  185,  186 
Wesley,  150,  188,  192 
Whitefield,  175 
Whitman,  229,  366 
Wiedemann,  272 
Will,    123,    124,    210,    217-220,    223, 

225,  229,  232-236,  331,  379,  388, 

395 
Williams,  291 
Willuhm,  103 
Wilkinson,  176,  189 
Wobbermin,  41 
Woodburne,  72 
Woods,  389 
Woodworth,  404 
Woolbert,  174 
Worcester,  49 
Wordsworth,  91 
Wright,  72 
Wundt,  74,  264,  287,  311 

Xavier,  Francis,  406-408 

Yahve,  279,  280 

Yawger,  403 

Yoga,  389 

Yogin,  314,  367,  427,  428 

Zarathustra,  73,  84 


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